Page 120 of Stormbreaker

I find myself tipping forward, my nose burying in his throat, my eyes closing as I inhale a deep, forbidden breath. A pained sort of sigh escapes my mouth, and he hugs me closer. Our bodies are touching everywhere as his hand glides to my nape, and he tips my face up.

Suddenly, this doesn’t feel friendly anymore.

He licks his top lip, first one corner and then the other. A moment later, he’s reciprocating, head dipping so his nose buries into the spot behind my ear.

I exhale in soft, breathless pants as my heart rate accelerates and my temperature climbs.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You drive me to the edge.”

The words are ragged and frayed, brimming with frustration.

I don’t know if he means “to the edge,” suggesting that I annoy him, or if he means it with the same desire pounding in my blood.

The look he’s giving me tells me it’s maybe a bit of both.

Like he can’t believe what he’s doing, but he’s also powerless to stop himself.

“Rook?” What am I asking? I want to know what happens next. Why did he follow me? Why are we standing here with nothing but atoms vibrating between us?

Suddenly, my throat is dry, and I lick my lips, too. His gaze catches on the tip of my tongue, and I think he might be wondering all the same things.

I’ve only kissed a handful of boys other than Knox. Small pecks under shadows. A make-out session or two amid the blaring music and free-flowing alcohol of a Society party. Nothing that meant anything.

I haven’t been with anyone but Knox, and the fact that he’s the only real knowledge I have of the male body feels like a tragic hole in the foundations of my education.

Rook’s hazel eyes glitter in the dim light of the alcove, and I become vaguely aware of the distant sounds of the party. Maybe they’ve forgotten all about me already. Except they won’t.

What I want is to forget, even for a moment.

Maybe Rook senses it. Maybe he understands how much I need this connection.

“I don’t understand it,” he says.

“What?”

“You are not what I expected, Poet Graves. Spoiled Fiama royalty who has no idea just how good she has it. You and your smooth hair and your perfect skin and your rich-girl voice.”

“I don’t have a rich-girl voice,” I say, indignant.

“Yes, you do. And it pisses me off how fucking much I want to kiss you.”

My breath hitches as my hand fists in the lapel of his jacket, while boiling heat torches up the length of my spine.

“Then do it,” I say, trying to make it sound like a challenge. The words are barely out of my mouth when his lips slam into mine. I surge up onto my tiptoes as his hand slides to my lower back and he yanks me closer.

Our lips meet in a warm slide, and my soft gasp has him pulling back for the briefest second before he kisses me again. It’s slow at first, unhurried, an exploration of textures and the softness of our lips. His tongue finds me waiting, shifting the moment into something else. I moan. This feels nothing like any kiss I’ve ever known. He licks into my mouth as we grow more frantic. His hands cup the sides of my face, and he tips my head back as he dives in to devour me.

We crush together, my body pinned between the wall and his strong arms and chest and legs. Warmth flutters in my stomach and behind my ribs as his hands slide over my shoulders and down my sides, where they settle on my hips.

“Fuck,” he breathes as he pulls away to catch his breath. “We shouldn’t do this.”

My hands grip his jacket again. “Why not?”

He doesn’t answer before he’s on me again, his mouth against mine, fingers digging into the soft flesh at my waist. I grip his arms, my hands curling around tensed biceps and then sliding up into the soft curls at his nape.

“Poet! Where are you?”

A voice blasts through the moment, tearing us apart. Rook steps away, his back hitting the opposite wall as he drags his hand along the corner of his mouth. Fire burns in his gaze as he stares at me. We both breathe heavily, our chests rising and falling.