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The sun was alive again, glowing with fury at the night’s trickery at the hands of Mistress Moon. Flares of lemony light threatened her with a headache if she opened her eyes.
sometimes she wondered about the sick part of herself that wanted to be liked, wanted it badly enough to be tempted to compromise herself to get it.
He wanted to tell her he found her impossibly alluring,
Roiben leaned forward before he might think to do otherwise and pressed a kiss to her dry lips. Her mouth opened with a rush of warm breath, and her arms ran over his shoulders to rest lightly, almost hesitantly, at the nape of his neck. His tongue swept her mouth, searching for some escape from the chill inside him. It felt so good it made his teeth hurt.
He wondered why he was enamored of a girl that could dissect him with the odd comment, throw him off balance with the idle, earnest question.
“Morning,” Roiben said, and his voice was as warm and slow as the honey he’d been eating.
She wanted him, wanted him to want her more than she had any right or reason to expect from him, and that knowledge was as bitter as the day-old coffee.
“I’m here because you are kind and lovely and terribly, terribly brave,” he said, voice pitched low. “And because I want to be.”
