Page 64 of Grim Tidings

“What is?”

“That kitten noise you just made.”

He sprinkles the salt, then guides my wrist back to my mouth. His eyes are dark, his thumb bracketed just under the heel of my hand.

“Lick,” he orders.

And I do. I lick the line of salt off my skin, my tongue catching the edge of his thumb where he’s still holding on to me. His jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, and I’ve never felt more powerful in my life—magic be damned.

“Sip,” he bites out. I shakily lift the bottle to my mouth, watching the way the color of his eyes change as I do exactly as he says. We’ve both been more vulnerable with each other tonight than we’re comfortable, but this feels safe. This feels easy.

The liquor is smooth, smoky sweet on my tongue as it mixes with the salt. It warms me from the inside out as it slips down my throat, and I almost forget the last step. I pull the bottle away and fumble for the lime, patting at the space between us, looking, looking—

Gabriel presses his thumb to my chin, his fingers spread wide against the side of my face. My head is cradled in his hand, held like a precious thing. His thumb gently pulls at my bottom lip as he urges my mouth open.

“Suck,” he says, and then a lime is between my teeth, his thumb at the corner of my mouth. He keeps his touch there, even as I hollow my cheeks, sucking the tart juice out.

Gabriel’s eyes are dark pools of midnight blue. Still water in the moonlight. Something secret, something dangerous. His wings flare out, blocking the light that bleeds in from the kitchen, sheltering us both in the shadows.

I pull the lime from between my lips. Gabriel doesn’t move.

“Tastes good,” I say quietly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, sounding winded and rough. “Good.”

Gabriel studies my face. I let him look. His thumb traces a path from the swell of my cheek to the corner of my mouth and back again. If I tilted my head to the side, I could catch it between my teeth like the lime. Suck it into my mouth and taste the salt off his skin. See what he tastes like with tequila.

He lets his hand drop with a heavy swallow. “Two more limes. Should we finish it out?”

I’m not sure I can survive another tequila shot like that one, but I nod anyway. Because it feels so good to have someone’s hands on my body after several lifetimes of going without. Because with Gabriel in front of me and an entire vineyard’s worth of wine slinking through my dormant bloodstream, there are no bad decisions.

“Sure.” Pretending to be less affected than I am, I press up on my knees. He exhales a sharp breath as I lean closer.

“What are you doing?”

What I want, I think dizzily. I smile at him, then tip my face into his neck, licking a slow stripe to the left of his Adam’s apple. His groan is rough and delicious, his hand immediately rising to tangle in the hair beneath my braid. He holds me there, my face against him, for a beat too long. Like he’s afraid to let me go.

I grab the saltshaker and half-heartedly shake it over the wet line. “Lick, sip, suck?” I ask.

He nods, hazy, his hand still in my hair. “Yeah. That’s, uh. That’s it.”

I admire both of our commitments to pretending this is innocent. Just two immortal beings, learning the customs of the mortals.

I lean forward and press my mouth to his neck again, letting my teeth drag against his skin this time.

I lick. I sip. I suck.

All while Gabriel watches me like a caged animal. I toss my lime to the side, and he takes a deep breath, his chest expanding under the weight of it.

“My turn?” he asks.

I nod, and he immediately lets himself fall into my space, his fore-head almost pressed to mine. He uses the hand that’s still tangled in my hair to roughly jerk my head back, arching my body over his arm. He doesn’t bother with the side of my neck. Instead, he licks a line from the base of my neck down, right to where my sweater dips between my breasts.

The salt tickles when he sprinkles it on, and then he’s looming over me again. He dips his tongue between my breasts and drags it up, licking the salt from my skin. All with his eyes on mine.

A whine chokes out of me. There’s a piano string that’s vibrating, low in my belly. Coiling tighter with each of his rough exhales against my skin.

He leans back and grabs the bottle, his hand shaking as he brings it to his mouth. I watch him swallow, feeling the ghost of his touch everywhere. My jaw. My heaving chest. The inside of my wrist, and the space between my thighs.