Page 25 of The Sweetest Lies
His breath shivers across my flesh and then deep into my soul itself.
Roman.
“I’m just having a good time.”
“Wow, can you say that again with some actual enthusiasm, beautiful.” He cocks a dark brow at me, and it’s then that I notice how unruly his hair is.
The mere sight of his hair growing out after the previous king took away the pride of his war braids sinks too many emotions into my chest. My hand lifts and my fingers are sliding through his soft hair before I can think better of it.
He tenses beneath my sudden touch, and I, too, am surprised.
“Your hair’s growing out,” I say as some sort of terrible excuse to keep touching him.
He’s clearly right. I have drunk too much.
I know that now, and yet, I still stroke his hair like he’s my favorite puppy.
“Uh—yeah.” The smug asshole smile he always blesses everyone with is nowhere to be seen.
He’s uncertain for once.
Because of me.
My hand drifts, and then I’m skimming along the rough coarseness of his five o’clock shadow. My fingertips are so gentle, I’m mesmerized by the way he feels beneath my skin. His hair, his faint beard, his hard jaw, his lips...
Those open lips move ever so slowly. “What are you doing, beautiful?” Warm breath fans along my palm.
What am I doing?Drunkenly watching my sister like a creep in the night. Drunkenly stroking Rome like a creep in his pants. Drunkenly making a fool of myself indeed.
Calloused fingertips skim over my wrist before he slowly wraps his hand over mine. But he doesn’t pull me away. He just holds my palm there against his hauntingly beautiful face.
Goddess, he’s imperfectly perfect.
His shining green eyes close, and then he’s leaning into my touch, and I’m leaning just a little closer to him, and then—
“Roman, my hound, come here,” a voice cracks into our dense emotions, and my drifting attention finally finds the source.
Creatchin.
Of course.
“Help me summon the magic of times long ago.” She swirls with her hands held up like she might catch the weight of the moon if it ever swayed and dropped.
Roman flinches, his eyebrows pulling together hard, and there’s a passing second where he leans into me just a little more. It’s like he wants to hold on to the sensation of my hands against his body for just a little longer.
Then he pulls away.
And strides to his queen with a charming, destructive smile. “My queen.” He bows, taking her slender hand in his and kissing it intimately.
Oh, he’s a hand whore now. I see.
My lashes flit as I roll my eyes so hard, I too look like I’m worshiping the moon.
“You’re supposed to be in your room,” a grumbling man says from just over my shoulder.
I turn to find Zilo’s ever-disappointed features staring down on me. Avian lingers a few feet away, but I know he’s here to act as my keeper. It’s like a big bad wolf snapping his jaws at Little Red while Grandma just finishes her knitting behind him.
They’re exhausting.
