Page 548 of Lessons in Cruelty

It’s. Not. Fucking. Fair.

“That’s it?” I say sweetly. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

His eyes don’t leave mine as he tips back his head and slowly drains the entire glass of wine. When he lowers it, it’s with resignation, like he wishes he could have drowned himself in it.

“What?” he scoffs. “Still surprised I can’t give you what you want?”

My breath catches. The wine-fueled haze, the anger, the years of buried pain…it all forms an acrid lump in my throat.

I want to shatter this glass against the wall, against his head, anything to make him feel what I feel.

“Do you even know what I want?” I push off the window, too wobbly to be graceful, but I don’t care. “Because if you think I want you to be some perfect, heroic asshole who’s done no wrong, you’re kidding yourself.”

“So what, then?” He looks away, then back, a flicker of something raw and desperate in his eyes. “Want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, Kai, that’s all I need.” I laugh, but it’s a raw and angry sound. “A neat little ‘sorry’ bow tied around this clusterfuck of a thing we’ve got going. That’ll make it all better.” My voice cracks on the last few words.

“I never stopped caring, Haven.”

“Sure got a funny way of showing it,” I rasp.

He drags a hand through his hair as he steps closer, green eyes dark and desperate. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“Wish I fucking knew,” I mutter. Angry at him, angry at myself, angry at the world.

Why the hell can’t I tell him what he wants to hear, so he can tell me what I need to hear so we can move onto the fairy tale part where the happy couple drives off into the sunset?

But nothing has ever been easy.

Why would this be any different?

He takes another cautious step. “I could kiss you.”

I should push him away, but when his smell envelops me and I catch the tiniest hint of sun-baked hair and sweat, I don’t want to stop him.

He must see something in my eyes, because he wraps his arm around the back of my neck, sloshing wine over my shoulder in the process, and drags me against him.

His head ducks down, but he murmurs, “You deserve better than me,” before pressing his lips to mine.

I hold myself stiff, refusing to let him seduce me into some kind of truce. But his warm lips are so confident, so insistent against mine, that I feel myself cracking under the pressure.

Then melting.

Then dripping.

God, he’s a good kisser.

A small moan escapes me as our bodies press against each other, and I can feel him hardening for me.

Me.

He wants me.

Me.

Except…maybe it’s not me at all. Maybe he’d kiss anyone this way.

The thought claws at me even as I lean into him. And worse—I can’t stop thinking about how easily Bastian makes me feel the same way, too. That man just has to look at me and I’m squirming. So maybe it’s not Kai either. Maybe this is just what kissing does to me.