A Fragile Enchantment

by Allison Saft

“You hypocrite.” He sounded fond, the insult spoken as tenderly as a pet name. It made heat bloom within her.

She knew, down to her very marrow, that she was about to be kissed.

Perhaps this was inevitable from the moment he first stirred her anger.

Until today, she’d never realized that shame was a solid thing. It sat as heavy as stones in her pockets.

Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he lifted it. His fingers traced fire up the curve of her calf, the swell of her thigh, the jut of her hip. The room was so quiet, she could hear the fabric sliding against her bare skin. Gooseflesh rippled across her body despite the heat, and she squirmed at the soft whisper of his breath against her throat, the soft click of metal as he unbuckled her garters.

A quiet gasp escaped her. Her eyes fluttered shut; her head lolled back against his shoulder. He kissed her neck, and her limbs grew airy and useless. His free arm snaked around her waist to support her weight as she melted into him.