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“Like kiss?” I press my lips to her wrist, looking down at her through heavy eyelids.

“More,” she whispers.

Gods. Damn. It.

My other hand moves to her neck, my fingers curling there. Gentle. She presses into the grasp.

“Don’t ask for it if you don’t want it.” I lean in so she can close the space if she wants to. If this is a game, it’s her move. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

Finally, I’m matching her sincerity. Because I have been. In a way, I’ve been waiting for years.

“I’ve been waiting too.”

Aurora lies a lot. She lies to herself, she lies to me, she lies to the people around her. But now, the truth is clear in her voice, and my guard drops. I half-expect the house to expel me, but it doesn’t.

For a moment, all is at peace. The air is sweet. The house laughs again.

And Aurora kisses me.

I tighten my grip around her neck and kiss her back, unlike before. There’s no reason for me to pull away. Instead, I open up. I give her everything.

It’s rough and hungry. Teeth scraping over her lips, capturing her until she moans into my mouth. When she parts her mouth, my tongue slips inside, and I back her against a wall. She’s sweet and cinnamon and heaven. When her tongue swipes against mine, it’s like I’m tasting the stars.

I could get drunk off her, but I won’t take too much. Needing her is the most dangerous thing I could do. For both of us.

I’m risking my heart, but she’s risking her life.

“Where are your brothers?” I ask, moving my lips to her neck. “Your mother?”

“Gone. For the whole week.”

“Good.” I shove my leg between hers, her warmth radiating onto my thigh. My pants are already tight as I grind against her, biting on her neck hard enough to leave a bruise—she can cover it with makeup or magic tomorrow, but tonight… “Just one time. One night. Will you pretend you’re mine?”

It takes all the bravery in the world for me to muster the words, to admit I want more than a kiss, more than a fuck. I need to pretend, even if she doesn’t want me, that she does. And even though I don’t know if I can truly let her in—if I’m ready to, and if my magic will allow it—I want to feel it.

And I think she needs this, too.

Her answer comes so readily.

“Yes.”

She’s wearing the same outfit she was wearing at work: a plaid skirt that’s been driving me crazy—now rolled up around her thighs—soft tights, and a shirt that’s far too low-cut. Her cleavage spills from the top.

My glasses clatter to the floor. I bury my face in there and inhale the scent of peaches and cinnamon.

Her soft hands press to my cheeks, and she guides me to look at her. Desperation must be dripping from my pores. The last thing I want is to stop; I’m ready to beg for it.

But I don’t have to.

“I’m yours,” she says.

Even though it’s all a facade, I want to believe it.

I drop to my knees, hoisting her leg around my shoulder, and rip her tights open without a second thought. It’s not until she gasps that I realize what I’ve done, pausing, my fingers brushing against the crotch of her underwear.

“I’ll replace those,” I whisper, my face flushing. “Promise.”

“I don’t care.” Her chest heaves as she sucks in air. “Please.”