Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)

by Rainbow Rowell

Baz holds the back of my neck. He presses his other hand between my wings and drags his fingertips down my spine. I kiss him. I kiss him. Like I’m lapping up water from a stream. Is this what people do? I’m gentle, I’m so gentle. Baz holds me fast. He moves his body in a wave against mine, moves against me like a serpent. “Just kiss me,” he says between kisses. “Mmm,” he mmms between breaths. Is this what people do? At night? In the dark? I was never magic. I hitch my knee higher on his hip. He pushes his palm down my back. I wrap my tail around his forearm, and I’m gentle. He isn’t. And I am. “Kiss me,” he says. I kiss him. “Please,” he says. “Baz, don’t—” “Please . . .” “I will.” I do. He doesn’t have to beg. He never has to beg. I’ll give him whatever he wants. Can’t he see that, here in the dark—that I’ll give him whatever he wants? My hand is gentle on his scalp, gentle on his throat. I couldn’t break him if I tried. I won’t try. “Baz.” I kiss him. “You can have whatever you want.” “I want to always be here.” “I want that, too. I love you.” He’s moving against me in waves. I hitch my knee higher. He’s wearing pyjamas. I’m wearing boxers. We’re both hard. I’m being gentle, he isn’t. I was never magic. He was human once. My fingers clench in his hair— “Simon,” he says, and it isn’t good. I let go. “Simon . . .” he says. That’s better. My wings spread out of their own volition. Baz. Like a wave, against me. Like a serpent moving through the sand.