One for My Enemy

by Olivie Blake

It felt like drama of the vastest heights, his kiss the overture of all the greatest operas—the summit of every landscape’s peak, a rush of tides and fates and furies—and she melted in his arms, warmed by more than just the spell at the tips of her fingers.

that when a kiss felt like this—like intoxication itself, like madness, so terribly impious and yet so purely, completely divine—it had to be stopped, and quickly, or else it would set fire to her every thought.

“I’m not here for a one-night stand, Sasha,” he told her. “The story we’re writing? It has chapters. Installments. I don’t want once.”

“Because nobody will deny you anything the moment you stop denying yourself. Who could possibly have sovereignty greater than yours?”