Page 114 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
When the door to Azaire’s room closes, I press my lips to his. His hand rises up the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair before both hands cup my jaw. His forehead rests against mine, and slowly, he pulls away.
“I’m okay,” he whispers again.
“So am I.”
I grab the back of his neck, pulling him to me. All I want is to lose myself in his touch—the only touch.
Azaire kisses me back, ravenously, indulgently. For once, he isn’t gentle, as if he understands that gentleness is the last thing I want.
Greedily, I reach my hands up the back of his neck, tugging his beanie off. He gasps, worried for a moment—-a trained reaction.
Then he settles down.
I watch him. Watch his snakes, watch him in his fullness. Iwantto see him.
Slowly, he trails the backs of his hands down my arms. Stopping at my wrists, he unbuttons my gloves with reverence. As if he’s unshrouding a constellation. A deity in the sky, pulling down the stars.
His fingers linger, outlining the shape of my hand. He glances up at me, eyes searching—for permission, for understanding.
I offer it to him. I want him—the same way he wants me. The way I’ve never been allowed to have anyone. And yet happily, wholeheartedly, he gives himself to me, everything he has. Knowing my past, knowing my story, it doesn’t stop him.
I want to return the favor.
The gloves slide off completely.
It’s rare to feel the air on my skin—the same way it’s rare for him to feel it on his snakes.
He lifts my hand to his mouth, eyes never leaving mine, and kisses my fingers one by one.
Every finger that’s capable of killing meets his lips.
Then his hands rise, settling on my waist. With urgency, he tugs me back into him. My lips fall on his with a deep sigh. I trail kisses down his neck, stopping at the hem of his shirt. I reach for it, tugging it over his head.
Azaire looks at me like I’ve done something impossible.
Then his hands come to the bottom of my shirt, tearing it from my body, too.
Both of us take a step back, my eyes searching every inch of him. Him seeing all of me.
When I look up, his gaze meets mine. Slowly, I reach behind my back, unclasping my bra and letting it fall to the floor.
Something in his gaze shifts. He closes the distance between us in a single step, one arm slipping around my back, holding me upright as he leans in. My spine arches as his mouth finds mine.
Ungracefully, I fumble with the button of his pants, failing to undo them multiple times. Azaire leans back, his gaze soft as our laughter mingles.
Then, softly, he asks, “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Positive.”
I pull his lips back to mine as he unbuttons his pants.
?
There’s a knock on Azaire’s door, and I ignore it, blissfully ignorant in his arms.
He holds me tighter, pulling my back against his chest, and I lean into it—as much as I can.
But Desdemona’s feelings grate at my skin, tearing me apart.Desperation.
