Page 49 of Hiss and Tell
“Hi.” I step inside. His cozy apartment is nothing like the night he cooked me coq au vin. Then it was neat as a pin with fancy table settings and yummy smells and his friends chattering to make things comfortable.
Today, there are ancient books spread across his coffee table, and I can see photocopies of old illustrations. “You’ve been preparing.”
“I wanted to show you everything properly. The texts, the preparation, what the ritual actually entails.” He gestures toward the couch. “Would you like some tea? This might take a while.”
I settle onto his couch, thinking that although this might be one of the most uncomfortable conversations of my life, I feel somehow… calm. I’m not sure whether it’s the sanctuary effect or just that I know and trust this male.
“I’d love some tea. And Sebastian? I want to understand everything.”
As he moves around the kitchen, his snakes seem more animated than usual, clearly affected by my presence in their space. When he returns with two steaming mugs, he settles beside me at a careful distance.
“The ritual has three main components,” he begins, opening one of the ancient texts. “The preparation, the exchange itself, and the bonding that follows.”
For the next hour, he walks me through everything: the ceremonial elements, the specific words that must be spoken, the way the magic flows between participants. We’ve finished the tea, and we’re now standing by the kitchen table looking down at the illustrations depicting the ancient tomb.
“The most important thing,” he says, showing me an illustration of two figures surrounded by golden light, “is that both participants enter willingly, with complete trust. The magic responds to intention and emotion.”
“And after?” I ask, studying the intertwined figures in the drawing. “What does the bond feel like?”
“According to the texts, we’ll be able to sense each other’s emotions, know when the other is in danger. Some couples report sharing dreams, enhanced magical sensitivity.” His eyes meet mine. “It’s permanent, Aspen. Once the bond is formed, it can’t be undone.”
The weight of that settles between us. “Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask. “Forever is a long time.”
Instead of answering immediately, he reaches for my hand. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. But I need to know you are, too.”
“I am,” I whisper, and something in his expression shifts. The professional distance melts away, replaced by raw want.
“Aspen,” he breathes, and the way he says my name makes warmth bloom low in my belly.
“Yes?”
“I’ve been trying so hard to be respectful, to give you space to think, but…” His thumb traces over my knuckles. “Having you here, in my space, talking about binding ourselves togetherforever… it’s taking every ounce of self-control I have not to touch your body in all the ways I’ve been dreaming of.”
The admission makes my pulse quicken. “Then don’t control it.”
His eyes darken. “Are you sure?”
“Kiss me,” I breathe, and then his mouth is on mine.
This kiss is nothing like the desperate one by the lake or the heated moment in his office. This is deliberate, reverent, every movement a careful exploration. His hands frame my face as his tongue traces my bottom lip, and I open for him with a soft moan.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Just today?” I tease, nipping at his jaw.
“Every day since I met you,” he admits, his hands sliding down to lift me against him. “Every night.” Those last two words were almost a groan.
I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the couch, setting me down gently before kneeling between my legs. The heat of his body against mine makes me arch into him, seeking more contact.
His apartment is dimly lit, candles flickering on several surfaces, and I realize he’s prepared for this. The thought sends heat racing through me.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his forehead pressed to mine.
“So sure,” I whisper, pulling his sweater over his head.
The sight of him steals my breath—all that carefully contained power revealed in golden-limned green skin and hard muscle. My hands explore his chest, marveling at the way he shudders under my touch.
“Your turn,” he says, his fingers finding the hem of my shirt.
