Page 116 of Mother of Death and Dawn

The way he was looking at me sent a shiver up my spine. “I’m right here, Tisaanah,” he murmured.

“Not all of you.”

A wry smile. “Maybe I’m better off without the parts I’m missing.”

But those were the parts I loved.

“You know…” He shifted closer—such a small movement, but every part of me reacted to the closing of the distance between us. “I’m not… good with words. But I do feel something. Maybe the memories are gone, but when I saw you, you weren’t a stranger.”

I was so desperate for him, even this admission seemed like so much.

I stood and stepped closer, closer, until Max was inches away, his gaze locked to me. Slowly, I parted my legs and climbed over him, my knees on either side of his hips. The hard warmth of his body suffused mine, my breasts barely brushing his chest with each breath. Something sharpened in his stare. His hands fell to my hips, grasping me a little tighter than I expected, as if he was holding himself back from pulling me closer.

I didn’t want him to hold himself back. Self-control made a soul tired. I was sick of it.

I traced the lean muscle of his shoulders, then his neck, swirling my fingertip over the ink fragments of the broken Stratagrams—brushing his jawline as his throat bobbed, then his temple, then the tense line of his brow. Down the slope of his nose. And finally, over his lips, which parted slightly at my touch.

One of his hands slid around my back, grasping tighter. The other moved up my body, caressing the curve of my waist, barely brushing the underside of my breast—lingering for a split second, and if he thought I didn’t notice, I did, because every muscle in my body wanted to arc into that touch—before leaving and settling at my cheek.

Not pulling me to him, but wanting to.

I knew he wanted to.

I wondered if he would taste the same. If he would move the same way as he filled me. If he would still reach for me when he came, as if he wanted me as close as possible in that moment, with all barriers between us erased.

If he did, would that change anything? Because there would still be a barrier, even if it was a different kind, the kind that lived between me and every memory he had of us.

That thought chilled me even in my drunken loneliness. It whispered in my ear,This could hurt you.

Worse, it could hurthim.

I hesitated.

It wasn’t so much as a movement, but Max saw it anyway. I watched his own uncertainty flicker across his face.

“You’re drunk,” he murmured. “You don’t know if you want this.”

What I wanted was not the problem.

I moved closer, so close my nose brushed his. “What do you want?”

He huffed a laugh. “What a question. You haven’t taught me the Thereni words for that yet.”

The hand at my back tightened, grasping a handful of my thin dress. A wave of heat surged between us, and my hips rolled of their own accord, drawing a hiss from Max and a small, wordless groan from me.

Max whispered, “We—”

It was so easy. I was already so close. It took just the slightest turn of my head to kiss him.

It was not a kiss between strangers.

It was a kiss that gave, and took, a thousand unspoken words. Slow—not frantic and messy, but languishing, desperate. My lips parted for him immediately and his tongue slipped against mine, exploring my mouth with deliberate, thorough care. Everything he had been resisting snapped, and he pulled me so close that I thought he might crush me, and I would welcome it. I put my arms around his neck, clung to him, pulled myself closer with every kiss.

Heat built at the apex of my thighs, just from our closeness, even with our clothing between us. When he shifted, drawing me closer, sparks of pleasure spiraled up my spine. Pleasure and want—no, more than want,need.

Our mouths broke out of sheer necessity for breath and I released a tiny whimper. Max’s hands clenched around me.

“That’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard,” he murmured, the words rumbling through me.

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