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“You… You want to kiss me?” She gulped down.
“Is there something wrong? If you do not want it, that is completely fine. You’re the one with all the power here, Lucero. As you can see, I’m quite beat already,” he attempted a joke.
“No,” she replied. “I don’t mean I don’t want it,” she quickly amended, flustered. “I wouldn’t mind it. If you’d like…”
“I might need your help. Scoot closer,” he told her huskily.
Damn, what he wouldn’t give to witness the play of emotions on her face. But he was going to taste her lips today. To his mind, that was an even bigger win.
Since the moment she’d helped him in the tunnels, she’d been on his mind constantly, always looking for her. He didn’t know what it was about her that drew him in, but there was a softness to her that appealed to an instinctive part of him. He didn’t need to see what she looked like to want her, and that had been a big surprise even for him. What mattered was what he knew of her—her kindness, her bravery, her delicate manner of being.
For someone who’d never had an interest in the opposite sex, this was a critical moment in his life—one that he wished he could preserve forever.
She moved slowly, careful of his injuries as she settled on his lap, her hands on his shoulders the lightest of touches.
Going by how tentative her movements were, he supposed this was as big of a moment for her as it was for him, and that only made him more anxious—afraid he was going to screw it up.
He’d never kissed someone before—had never had the inclination.
Yet now, with this faceless woman, it felt imperative that he do so.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” she whispered, her breath fanning across his lips and denoting her proximity.
“You won’t. You’re very small,” he noted, a smile pulling at his lips.
She fit perfectly in his arms, just as he’d envisioned.
That moment when she’d tended his injuries in the tunnel had given him a taste of her slender, delicate frame, which he now experienced to the fullest.
Slowly, he brought his hands to her waist, caressing her softly.
He was so lost in the moment, that he didn’t even mind what she saw in him anymore—that he probably looked a fright with how disfigured he was from the many blows he’d taken to his face.
That was yet another unusual thing.
For so long, he’d been so concerned with his appearance, always disappointed in himself, that it was a wonder he wasn’t focusing on that now. Instead, he was only focusing on her.
And with his sight gone, he experienced her through other mediums.
Smell, touch, hearing. He used everything at his disposal to get drunk on her and everything she meant to him—an oasis in the desert.
“You’re just very big,” she giggled, a rich sound that permeated his very being.
Becoming a little bolder, he raised one hand to her face, cupping her cheek and tracing the contours of her features.
She had small, dainty features, just like the rest of her.
Her cheekbones were full and defined, her mouth small and pouty.
As he traced the seam of her lips, she drew a sharp breath in.
“May I?” he asked, wanting her verbal consent to continue. He didn’t know her boundaries, but from the little he’d inferred about her history with men, he supposed she hadn’t had the best experiences. And by God, he wanted to betheexperience for her.
“Yes, please,” she whispered, breathless and eager.
Leaning in, he paused when he was a razor’s edge away from her lips, simply breathing her in.
“You’ve been on my mind for weeks,” he rasped. “Your voice’s been replaying in my head, the softness of your skin…”
