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He spins around, his gaze welding with mine. “Why would you ever think that?”
His sudden intensity startles me, and my brain turns into a muddled mess.
“Think what?” I question.
“That we’re going to … gang bang you.” He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s not what this is about.”
My heart slams against my chest. “Then, what is it about?”
He plays with a strand of my hair while watching his own fingers move across them. “It’s about our freedom.”
I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Nothing about this is freedom, Blaise.”
“Yes, it is.” His gaze finds mine again. “You just have to trust me.”
“Trust you?” I gape at him. “Why would I?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Because I’m hoping a part of you still remembers what we used to be.” He steps toward me, and I have to angle my head up to meet his gaze. “None of us would do anything to hurt you.” When I open my mouth to protest, he places a finger against my lips. “And I know that the last few years seem like they’ve been laced with hurt, but what if it was all for a purpose—a better life? What if we did all those horrible things to make it so none of us will ever have to deal with this horrible life ever again?” His voice is just a whisper, soft and gentle against my ears.
“How did you guys treating me like shit get us all to a better life?” I whisper. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
He leans in closer to me, his breath dusting across my cheek. “I promise I’ll—we’ll explain everything to you once you’re ours and we’re yours.” He laces our fingers together then places my hand against his chest. “Because that’s the thing with this fate ceremony. You don’t just belong to us. We belong to you, as well. We’re a team. I know it hasn’t felt like that in a while, but we still are.” His heart slams against my palm. “If you’ll let us.”
I’m unsure what to say or think, and part of me wants to shove him away and tell him to fuck off. But another part of me—probably a stupid one—remembers the sweet boy who was one of my best friends, the one who cried with me when we watched sad movies and told me all the time that I was pretty. Blaise always said such sweet things.
His heart is racing so swiftly against my palm as I stare up at him. He’s nervous, and I worry that’s a sign he might be lying to me. But then he whispers in a shaky tone, “I … I want to kiss you so fucking badly.” He closes his eyes and lowers his forehead against mine. “I shouldn’t, though.”
Is he asking me this or telling himself?
I should be telling myself the same thing, that this isn’t like with Trystan—this isn’t my own free will.
Except, it could be if I choose to do it first.
To kiss him first.
Do I want to?
Yes and no.
So much confliction.
Move away, Allura. Don’t go there.
But as his heart continues to frantically pound against his chest and vibrate through me, I break and seal my lips to his.
He immediately tenses, his lips frozen against mine.
For a flash of a moment, anger bites through me as I detect an impending rejection. Then he softly moans, and the next thing I know, his tongue is parting my mouth open.
I kiss him back, wanting to have as much control as possible, wanting this to be for me. I even consider pretending he’s someone else, someone who hasn’t broken my heart. But flash images of before everything went to hell keep clipping through my mind, reminding me of who he used to be—whoweused to be—and I lose all control, devouring him.
He matches my desperation, kissing me with equal intensity, and his hands mold around my waist. I press closer to him until our chests align and loop my arms around the back of his neck. When I slip my fingers through his hair, he moans again and deepens the kiss, backing me up until I bump the mirror on the wall.
I want him to touch me. I want him to slide his hands all over my body, but he keeps his hands on my waist. Finally, I reach down, grab one of his hands, and with an inhale through my nose, place it on my breast.
He pulls back, gasping for air. His eyelids flutter open, and he looks high, his eyes glazed over as he blinks.
“I don’t …” His throat muscles work as he swallows hard. “We shouldn’t be doing this, right?”
