Page 107 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
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I don’t go to class. Instead, I find myself retreating back to Azaire’s room. He’s still tangled in bed.
His eyes lift to meet mine the moment I enter.
There’s something in the way he looks at me—something I could sense, even if I didn’t already feel it.
He looks at me like I am relief incarnate. As if every time I leave, he’s scared I’ll be gone forever.
Then he smiles. An irreplaceable grin.
I feel it in my heart.
“I’m back,” I whisper.
“I wish you never left.”
I set my bag by the door—with the soup ingredients. I decide to save them for the right time. Maybe I’ll surprise Azaire between classes, the way he did with me. Instead of the lunar lake, I’ll take him into the woods, to the place where we met during the party.
Then I climb into his bed, falling on my stomach before burying my head into Azaire’s chest.
“Me too,” I mutter. “I wish I could stay here forever. I like your arms.”
“My arms like you.”
“Oh really?”
“You’re their favorite thing to hold.”
I laugh, and it’s ridiculous. “Oh, shut up.”
Azaire’s hand rests on my cheek, his thumb scraping against my skin. “I’m not kidding. You’re my favorite thing in this universe.”
I shake my head. “Don’t lie to me.”
I’m afraid he isn’t.
“Wendy Estridon.” His voice drops low, my name a caress on his lips. “I know you better than that.”
My breath catches in my throat. “And I know you aren’t lying.”
He touches his nose to mine. “I know.”
I move forward, filling the gap between us and resting my lips on his. The kiss is gentle, the way he always is at first. As if, even after all this time together, he’s still trying to know me.
In every sense. Every flavor, every way.
As if he could find the answers in my lips—learn me inside out.
His hands graze down the sides of my body, resting on my hips. His grip turns firm, and he pulls me against him. We are chest-to-chest.
We are skin-to-skin.
I wrap a leg over his, pulling him even closer.
He holds my hip tighter.
I hold his face.
