Page 75 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“It’s fine,” he insists, covering her hand with his. “It’s nothing.”
But it wouldn’t have been nothing if the archer’s aim had been better. It wouldn’t have been nothing if the arrow had found his chest instead—if it had stopped his heart.
My fault, my fault. All my fault.
A sharp breath escapes her, and suddenly, hot tears spill over. She presses her lips together, shaking her head, her grip tightening on his sleeve.
“Selene,” Dorian whispers, brushing his knuckles against her cheek before cupping it fully in his palm. His thumb sweeps over her damp skin, gentle, grounding. “It’s all right. I promise.”
“You could be dead.”
“But I’m not.”
“This is my fault.”
His brows draw together. “No, it isn’t—”
“No, no, you don’t understand.” Her voice breaks, raw with urgency. “The Duke did this. The Duke tried to kill you—”
Dorian’s expression hardens, but his hands remain gentle. “Even if he had, that still wouldn’t be your fault.”
“I should never have married you!” Her fingers tremble as she pulls away, but Dorian catches them before she can retreat too far. He lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it—light, steady,reassuring.
“Selene,” he says, gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. “I don’t regret it, and I hope you don’t either.”
Her breath shudders. “I’ll regret it if you get hurt,” she whispers. “What if he tries again?”
Dorian hesitates, weighing his next words. “I’m hopeful still that it was just some unfortunate misunderstanding,” he says at last, though there’s doubt laced in the words. “The Duke was present in the ballroom at the time, and I don’t see why he’d have tried to kill me because of our earlier altercation—”
“That’s not why,” Selene says softly.
Dorian studies her, his brows lifting slightly. “What other reason could he have?”
Selene swallows hard. Her fingers twitch in his grasp. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth when I asked you to marry me,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper. “I… I learned that the Duke wanted to marry me to gain control of my grandmother’s estate. I don’t know why, but—but it’s clearly important. Enough that he still wants to marry me. Enough that he’d hurt you to…” She can’t get much more out. She’s sobbing too hard to make any sense.
Dorian holds her face in his hands, thumbing away her tears, but they’re coming faster than he can stop them. She’s finding it hard to breathe again, she’s finding it hard to—
Dorian’s mouth collides with hers, and suddenly all thoughts vanish. The kiss is gentle, but not soft. There’s a hardness to his mouth, an absence of care or perhaps an overwhelming abundance of it. She’s never been kissed like this before. She can’t explain it.
Dorian pulls back. Her sobs have stopped.
“Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have… we shouldn’t…”
“Yes,” Selene whispers, finally finding her voice. Her hands are curled against Dorian’s chest. “Probably… probably a terrible idea…”
She grabs his shirt and steers his mouth back to hers. Dorian moans into her, and suddenly his hands are roaming her back, pawing against the thin fabric of her nightgown, grabbing her thighs. His lips move from her mouth to her neck, winding her hair around his hand to grant him easier access.
She grabs the back of his head and forces him to kiss her again. She doesn’t want his mouth anywhere else—not yet. She wants him against her, his breath her own.
Kiss me, Dorian,she wants to cry.
She’s an earthquake in a fabric shop, an explosion of colour, unspooled and unravelled. Sensation glides across her body. His hands are silk and fire. They’re moving across the room, stumbling towards the bed. Her fingers seek beneath his shirt, stroking the smooth, hand panes of his stomach.
Gods, he’s wonderful.
Dorian hesitates when her hands toy with his trousers. “We—we can’t,” he says. “We shouldn’t—”
“You said that before,” Selene tells him. “But I’ve quite forgotten the reasons why.”
