Page 224 of 912321

“Like you look at me.”

“And how do I look at you, Reya?”

“Like you feel everything,” I whisper. “Like you’re trying not to lose control of it.”

“I can do that,” he says quietly.

The music is still coming from the car somewhere behind us. Low, fading in and out with the wind. It’s never over…

I don’t move when his fingers shift at the strap of my dress. The fabric slips off my shoulder and suddenly there’s air there; cold air, and I feel it everywhere.

His hand moves behind my head, long fingers tangling in my hair with a cruel tenderness, keeping me from tipping back into that space in my mind where everything disappears. The cliff is still there, even if I’m not looking at it, and I feel it.

He leans in slowly, like he’s giving me every second to stop him, his mouth brushes my shoulder. Then his voice comes low, right against my skin, almost lost in the sound of the wind and the distant music.

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder…

“Remember,” he says. His hand steadies at the back of my head again, not stopping me from falling. “If you fall…” Another pause. “…I’ll follow you.”

I look at him for a second too long, his eyes don’t move away from mine. My fingers slide into his hair and pull him closer, enough that there’s no space left to think.

“Then kiss me…before we both fall.”

“Open for me, Mireya,” he murmurs.

And I let my lips part, and the world falls away when he finally kisses me.

What am I doing?

His mouth crashes against mine, with all the desperation we’ve spent months burying, pulling every last piece of restraint from me, until there’s nothing left but the ache of wanting him. My hands roam around his neck and I can feel his pulse under my fingers.

This is real. He is real.

“Feel it, Mireya. My heart. It’s beating for you,” he whispers.

His heavy breathing comes out in pants over my shoulder and I instantly grab onto him as the intensity from the heat becomes almost too much to feel at once. His hands run over my body softly which scares me as much as it excites me.

I’m scared of my body. Having him seeing me without my clothes covering my scars will have him asking me more questions. Questions I’m not ready to answer.

But I won’t need words for that, my scars already scream the truth. The faded marks, the unhealed scar tissue and the fresh marks I’ve created already tell the entire story.

I want to stop him for a second, ask him if he’s ready to see the broken canvas that I am. Instead, he pulled back to meet my eyes, his lips were swollen, his smile lazy, and then he says low, “Don’t hide from me.”

Breathe.

“It's me, remember?” he says quietly. “It's just me.”

“I trust you.”

“Then tell me how do you want me to make you feel?” He asks, as his hands brushes a strand of hair out of my face.

“Everything,” I whisper. “Everything all at once.”

“Then, I’m going to give you everything.”

He squeezes my hands near my head, pushing me further down the edge. Half of me is already hanging down the cliff. But I’m not scared. I trust him.

I can feel him slowly kissing my chest, then my stomach through the fabric of my dress, until he reaches my hips. That’s when cold air hits my skin. With his free hand he pulled it up until nothing was covered anymore. It’s strange how my body reacts to his touch, arching automatically to seek more of him.