Page 51 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Roremar pursed his lips. “Okay, then.”

He pushed back from her, and Emmeline nearly whined at the chill snaking over her skin with his absence.

Taking slow steps across the room, he opened the decanter and poured a measure of whiskey. Tongue flicking across her lips, Emmeline’s heartbeat accelerated as she studied Roremar’s every move. The part of her that always wanted to get lost and willing with him yearned for his hands back on her body.

Roremar took a sip, then crossed back to Emmeline. When they were toe to toe, her chest heaving and breaths shaky, he tipped the cool edge of the whiskey glass against her mouth, but right as the liquor was about to slip over the edge, he pulled it back.

A drop spilled over her bottom lip, rolling down her chin and the column of her throat instead.

“Oops.” Roremar’s eyes traced its path, desire flaring to pure silver. The candles lining the room caught starfire in his irises as his lids hooded.

“No kissing,” he whispered, and he dropped his lips to her neck.

His tongue greedily licked up the bead of liquor rolling across her flesh. Emmeline shivered at the hot drag, back arching and hands gripping his shoulders.

“What’s wrong, Em?” Roremar teased, and he sounded so much lighter than earlier, even with the sinful note to his voice. His tongue dragged up her throat, mouth stopping below her ear. “I didn’t kiss your lips. Did you mean I shouldn’t kiss you anywhere?”

Emmeline could barely keep her words straight as his whispers slithered over her skin. “What happened to no touching either?”

“I’ve given up on my rules, Emmeline. I can never have you—not for real—but Fates, I’m taking what I can get.”

He dripped another splash of liquor in the hollow of her collarbone, his tongue following in its wake. The contrast of the chilled drink and his warm touch drove her wild.

Fates, she wanted to let go. To fuck the rules and be a little more reckless with herself. But giving into him would only be damning him.

Roremar’s hand dragged up her side, his rings cold as his thumb skated the underside of her breast. “Is this okay? No kissing, but this…” He brushed over her nipple, her spine arching and head tipping back. “Is this okay?”

She understood the desperation. He was a storm of emotions—grief, guilt, anger, and want—and this was how he was letting them out. Through her—them. He was pouring everything he couldn’t understand into the one thing he was certain of.

Emmeline needed that safe haven, too.

They may be fated for ruin, but for now, she let her eyes slip shut and indulged in what little time they had.

“Yes,” she exhaled.

Her breathing was ragged, the crackling fire dancing with it as Roremar eased one strap off her shoulder. The sound was a haunted melody, a shattering song that only fit their twisted story.

The lace fell forward, and just like the first time he’d seen her body, Roremar looked like he’d devour her.

“You’re too good for me,” he whispered.

He rolled another drop of liquor down her chest, between her breasts. It traced the path where his ring had hung just hours ago, now stored safely in her dressing chamber back in the manor.

Roremar dropped to his knees. Her core ached, needy for him, but he only gripped her hips and caught that daring drop of liquid right below her ribs.

The hot sweep of his tongue across her stomach had her thighs pressing together, desperate for any kind of friction. Roremar paused, looking up at her as he placed a kiss below her navel.

“What have you done to me, Huntress?” he whispered, fingers digging into her skin. “Here I am, a dying man, yet I’m entirely consumed by you. My every thought is about what it would be like to feel you, misery knowing that I’ll never get to have you the way I dream of.”

One hand stretched up, thumb swiping over her bottom lip with pure longing burning through his stare. His other hand worked beneath the waist of her leathers as his teeth skated the band.

Each touch brought her closer to leaping off that ledge.

To being reckless with him⁠—

Three quick knocks on the door had them both freezing. The illusion shattered.

“Fuck.” Roremar sighed, forehead pressing to her stomach.