Page 2 of Can't Bite This Feeling
She wants freedom. She wantsus. She wants the life her father will never let her have, the one where she isn’t a possession traded for alliances or legacy. The one where she can speak loudly, laugh freely, and walk barefoot in the garden without punishment.
“He says my mind is too loud,” she once whispers into my chest. “That if I don’t learn silence, he’ll teach it to me with a belt and a locked door.”
I remember the way she flinched when a twig snapped. The way she touched her bruises like memories she couldn’t scrub away.
And Gods help me, I want to burn the whole Empire down for her.
But turning someone—choosing someone—isn’t a decision I make lightly. I’ve lived long enough to know how wrong it can go. How hollowforevercan feel when it’s born from a wound instead of a wish.
So I refuse.
At first.
I tell her no. I tell her to wait. I tell her to forget me.
She doesn’t listen.
She cups my face and says, “Let me choose you. Let me burn for something that’s mine.”
The words brand themselves into my soul.
So I give in.
We don’t rush it.
For all her fire and fearlessness, she blushes when she tells me—softly, fiercely—that she’s never been with anyone before.
“I wanted it to be you,” she says, like it’s the most natural truth in the world. “It was always going to be you.”
Something in me breaks.
Not with lust, not even with longing, but withlove—an aching, impossible thing I never thought I’d feel. Not after everything I’ve lost. Not after what I’ve become.
We find a hidden place beneath the cliffs, shielded by rock and twilight and the hush of the wind. The air smells like salt, dusk,and lavender, the kind she crushes beneath her toes. The kind I will now always associate with her skin.
I lay my cloak over the moss like an offering, smoothing it with trembling hands. I do not shake from hunger, though I ache with need. I shake from awe. Because she’s here. She’s real. And she’s mine.
She watches me as I strip off my tunic, her fingers curling into the hem of her dress, her breath coming faster. Fire flares in her eyes, but not fear. She is afraid of nothing. Not even me. Not even this.
“Come here,” I whisper, voice rough.
She steps closer. Slips her dress over her head. She stands before me in the dim light, bare as the moon, blushing but unbowed. Her body is all soft curves, flushed skin, and trembling strength. My breath catches in my throat.
“You’re shaking,” she murmurs.
“So are you.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Neither am I,” I lie.
She steps into my arms and kisses me like a vow, softly at first, then deeper, urgent, tasting wildness and want. I lift her gently, laying her down on the cloak, brushing moss from her hair. She’s laid out like a sacrifice, like something holy. And I am already hers.
“Tell me what to do,” she whispers. “I don’t want to get it wrong.”
“There is no wrong,” I murmur, kneeling between her thighs. “There is onlyus. Let me show you.”
I kiss my way down her neck, over her collarbone, down the soft slope of her breast. Her nipples are already tight, aching for my mouth. I take one in gently, teasing her with my tongue and teeth. She gasps, arches into me, fingers tangling in my hair.
