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His lips curled into a smile against mine. “You’re a Princess.”
“So? You’re a god.”
Ash laughed then, the sound a thick and heavy smoke in my veins. “And you shouldn’t be debauched on the floor of a forest.”
“And what if I wasn’t a Princess?” I countered, sliding my hand away from him. “Would it be acceptable to commence with said debauching then?”
Another low laugh teased my lips as his hand grazed the curve of my thigh. “No one should be debauched on the floor of a forest. Especially when they will surely feel the hot bite of regret later.”
“How do you know I would feel regret?”
“You will.” His lips touched the corner of mine.
It occurred to me then that he had to be referring to the consequence that often occurred from a good debauching. A child. I relaxed, relieved that he had the foresight to even think of such things when the thought truly hadn’t even entered my mind. A child born of a mortal and god was extremely rare, so much so that I’d never met one. “That can be prevented,” I whispered, referencing an herb I knew women could take, either before or after, that inhibited such things. “It’s a—”
“I know what it is,” he interrupted. “Surprisingly, that is not what I was talking about.”
I frowned. “Then what exactly do you think I would regret? Or do you think that I don’t know my own wants and needs?”
“You strike me as a person who knows exactly what they want and need,” he returned. “But this is not wise.”
“Then what are you doing?” I demanded, pushing lightly on his chest.
“Attempting to not commence with said debauching.” His hand slid around to my rear, where his fingers pressed into my flesh.
A throbbing pulse of awareness shuttled through me. “In…in case you’re not aware, you have an odd way of not engaging in debauchery.”
“I know,” he replied. “Probably because I don’t have much experience with everything debauching entails.”
Surprise flickered through me. I opened my mouth to ask if he meant what I thought he did—because surely, as a god, he couldn’t—but his lips found mine once more. And kisses…his kisses were very distracting. His lips moved against mine in a slow, drugging way as if he were sipping from my lips. It felt like hours, even though I knew it was only minutes. Not nearly long enough, and then those kisses slowed even more, gentling. There were no more unexpected pricks of his fangs, and with each sweep of his lips and flick of his tongue, I knew we would go no further than this.
And despite how I’d challenged him and his somewhat annoying and surprising restraint, this…this coming to an end was okay. It was the wise thing because forgetting the way he kissed, the pleasure he’d given me, and how I felt now would be hard enough. Anything more would be impossible.
His lips tugged slowly on mine, leaving me in a pleasant haze as his head lifted. I opened my eyes, finding him scanning the elms.
It took a moment for concern to reach me. “Do you hear something?”
“Nothing like before.” He looked at me as he slid his hand down my leg and then away. “If I stayed, I think I’d find myself obsessed with trying to count just how many freckles you have.”
What he said…it tugged at my heart, and I inhaled sharply. I did not need to feel that.
“But I need to go.”
Forcing my grip on his shoulders to loosen and unsure of how my hands had even gotten there, I nodded.
“I should’ve left already,” he added. “I didn’t expect to linger tonight.”
I ignored the burn of disappointment I felt in the pit of my stomach. “I think tonight was…entirely unexpected.”
“I can agree with that,” he replied and touched my cheek. The act surprised me. Catching a curl, he tugged it straight and then slowly wrapped it around his finger. He stared at the strand of hair, smoothing his thumb over it. “Will you be heading home now to a bed far more comfortable than a forest floor?”
I nodded.
But he didn’t move from atop me, his weight still pleasant in an intoxicating sort of way. While he appeared momentarily engrossed in my hair, I took the opportunity. Seized it, actually. I swept my gaze over his brow and the proud line of his nose, the angular height of his cheekbones, and those shockingly soft lips. I took in the cut of his jaw and the faint scar in his chin. I committed those details to memory as I had the feel of his flesh against mine and how my lips still tingled from the touch of his.
I blew out a soft breath. “If you’re to leave, you will need to let go of my hair.”
“True,” he murmured, easing his finger from the twist. He didn’t let the hair fall. Instead, he swept it back behind my ear with a gentleness I decided I also could not remember.
