He looks hungry. Starving. As though he would devour me if given the chance. His hand lets go of mine. He slips it instead underneath my hair, gripping my neck, drawing me toward him. So I wasn’t mistaken after all. Everything I’d thought was happening between us . . . it was real. This is real. This place, this point in time. His mouth opens, like he’s going to kiss me, like he’s going to consume me. I lean into him, as hungry as he, as desperate for that feast we’ve been denying ourselves for far too long. “Clara,” he breathes, his lips so near I can just about taste them. “Clara, my
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