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His gaze drops to his boots, and when I follow his line of sight, mortification flushes my skin when I see one of my ribbons curling around his leg.
“I’ll do that anytime you need catching, Goldfinch.”
“You’re very floppy.” I rest my head against his firm, muscled chest. “You’re very hard,” I counter. A rich, dark laugh slips from his mouth. “You’ve no idea.”
“Your ribbons seem to like me.” “Well, they don’t have brains, so…”
“My own good was stuck on a pirate ship, with an aura like a beacon that flared across the Barrens,” he grits out, a thick spun voice meant to tie knots around me. “My own good was cowering before men who were nothing—fucking nothing—in comparison to her.”
“But then you came along. And never, not once, has anyone looked at me the way you do.”
But I’ve stepped too close to him and gotten caught in his quicksand. No matter which direction I go, I just end up sinking deeper.
