Page 85 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
I don’t pull away, even if instinct is telling me I should. Everything else is telling me to lean in.
“Everywhere.”
Azaire’s gaze sharpens, and I can feel the weight of it as his thumb moves across my cheek. I can’t help but grip his hand, but I don’t pull him closer.
“Power doesn’t care about where it hits,” I add, the words coming out colder than I meant.
“No. It doesn’t,” he agrees quietly.
I lean in, drawn to him despite the truth of my words and all the scars I have to prove it. My lips find the edge of his wrist first, kissing up the length of his arm—the same way he had touched me.
“Hey,” he breathes, his voice rough. “That’s not fair.”
I press my lips against the hollow of his neck, meeting his eyes. Against his skin, I murmur, “What isn’t?”
“I don’t have any scars.”
I kiss one more time. Then another. “Maybe I just like kissing you.”
Azaire’s smile doesn’t fade, but there’s something in the way he looks at me—a look I don’t need empathy to decipher.
It’s desire that deepens his gaze.
“Then,” he says, his voice low, “I couldn’t possibly stop you.”
?
“You’re making a mistake, Wendy,”the boy tells me the moment I enter the confines of my room.
I slam the door shut behind me, trying to block out every emotion but my own.
IknowI’m making a mistake—I could feel it when I first kissed Azaire.
I don’t need my mind to scream at me.
This is a mistake I’m choosing to make.
“It’s just for a little bit,”I say as I lean against my door.“I only need a little companionship, to recharge.”
“That is not how these things go.”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, shaking my head, although no one can see. Against my better judgment, I close my eyes.
On my bed, the boy is lying leisurely—despite his voice sounding anything but calm, prior to now.
“Lie with me.”
Once more, I shake my head.“I know what you think this is—”
“Wendy,”the boy breathes. “Please. Just lie with me.”
I stare at him for a moment, trying to think of a better excuse.
“Don’t make me beg,”he says.“Because I will.”
The moments pass, and his desperation grows. It presses into me as if he were a person.
In the end, I walk to my bed. I lie with my back touching the boy’s chest, and his arm wraps around me.
