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And then he kissed me.
The first time we kissed had been too rushed, I decided right off the bat. There’d been too much on the line, we’d been rife with fear, and it had technically been a goodbye kiss; a just-in-case-I-die,-at-least-I-kissed-him kiss. This one was nothing like that.
Sariel’s lips were soft, warm, and a little dry, but perfect. It started slowly as a gradual melding of our lips, just us feeling each other out, yet it made my heart pound until I could feel the beats in my tongue.
He nipped my bottom lip and I gasped, my eyelids fluttering shut as he slipped his tongue between my lips and into my mouth. His hand cupped the back of my head, holding me steady as he tasted me. A groan broke free from him that made my body pulse with desire.
He licked across my tongue. The sensation sent a zing straight to my lower body that had me moaning into his mouth.
Goddamn, he knew how to kiss.
Sariel pulled back. We locked eyes with each other briefly, and then he was rolling me onto my back, placing himself between my thighs, and taking my mouth again in a far more heated kiss.
Our tongues tangled, our teeth clacking against each other in desperation. My legs wrapped around his waist as he settled in, I felt his erection press into my heat. When he ground against me, I yanked my mouth away from his to gasp.
I was flushed and hot, my body weeping from just that little taste of what could be.
He pressed wet, open mouth kisses to the side of my neck, kissing up the side of my face and taking my mouth again. He slanted his mouth over mine and kissed me until we were both out of breath.
All of a sudden, he pulled fully off me to sit up on his heels. His pupils were blown wide, his hair was a disheveled mess, and his lips were kiss-swollen and red.
“I need to paint,” he breathed, lifting his hands to show me his twitching fingers. “I need to paint. I need—”
He cut himself off and stumbled off the bed.
I scrambled off the side and to him. “Is it one ofthosepaintings, Sariel?” I asked quickly.
He nodded, eyes going unfocused while I led him back to the end of the bed to settle him down. “Does it have to be paint?”
“Preferably,” he croaked. Embarrassment stained his cheeks red. “Sorry about this.”
“You’re fine,” I promised. “Stay right here. I’m going to hunt down some supplies.”
I was suddenly ecstatic that we’d all been placed on the same floor. Johnny and Marilyn’s room was across the hall—sadly for them, I didn’t give a fuck that I was interupting whatever they were doing. That haunted look on Sariel’s face had lit a fire under my ass.
“Johnny!” I snapped, pounding on the door.
It swung outwards to present a sleepy, shirtless Johnny. “Someone better have died, Aria—”
“I need paint supplies,” I said breathlessly. “I’ll explain later, but I need—”
“Is it Sariel? Does he… Is he having one of those…?”
He was groggily stepping out of the door and dragging me across the hall, all the way back to our room, before I could even catch my breath. I nodded.
“Stay with him. I’ll be back,” he instructed, then left.
Sariel was in the exact same position I’d left him in, sitting on the edge of the bed with a spooked look on his face. His hands were twitching sporadically.
I approached him the way you would approach a wild animal, cautiously. “Sariel?”
“Hey,” he answered softly. “Did you get paint?”
“Johnny’s finding you some.”
“Okay,” he said. I hated the hint of vulnerability I could detect in his voice.
I sat slowly at the end of the bed next to him. “Can you talk about it?”
