Famine (The Four Horsemen, #3)

by Laura Thalassa

I close my eyes against his kisses, drinking them in. Each press of his lips is unspeakably tender. This is a side of him that I didn’t know existed—that I hadn’t imagined could exist—and it’s doing strange things to me. I slide my palms over Famine’s shoulders, marveling at his smooth flesh. This body of his has seen and felt so much pain, and unlike me, he has nothing to show for it. No scars, no disfigurement, just an alarming amount of nightmarish memories. I twine my legs around his, the pads of my feet skimming over the back of his calves, trying to feel every part of him at once. My heart feels too big for my chest. He slides his hands over my skin, breaking off his kisses to just look at me. It’s the oddest thing in the world, seeing him marvel at my form like he’s discovering desire for the first time. His gaze moves to my eyes, and at his expression, I still. I don’t simply exist, he once said, I hunger. I see his desire now so clearly, but it’s not as simple as most of the lustful looks men have given me in the past.