“That’s my girl,” he murmurs between wild kisses, hands untangling from my hair, gliding down my arms, anchoring on either side of my rolling hips. “Just like that. Not too fast.” He sets a less frantic pace, moving me deeper. “There you go. Nice and slow. We’ve waited far too long to rush.”
My elbows rest on either side of his head, caging him in, keeping him for myself.
His mouth consumes mine just as he has consumed my heart, wholly and without reservation. Teeth nip my lower lip. My chin. My jaw. Devouring with a frenzied sort of hunger, as if we are starved for each other. Nails sink into skin, grasping at every piece of flesh we can reach.
I yank on the soft fabric of his shirt, desperate to see how the years have honed his body. “Take this off.”
His grin flashes, and he rolls me onto my back, taking charge. He reaches behind his head to tug his shirt up and off. His body has always been beautiful, but seeing the man he has become leaves me aching with want. With need.
The lean muscles of his chest and abdomen look as if they have been carved in stone by the finest sculptor in all the realm. The deep cut of his hips creates the perfect V.
My name covers his heart. My flowers climb his arms. Our story has been inked on his knuckles. My gaze falls to an intricate tattoo of a cage stretching across his ribs. At the bottom lies a prone blackbird, tiny talons raised, curled around nothing.
Goosebumps lift beneath my fingers as I trace the creature’s black wings, knowing in my heart who it represents. My prince is the blackbird. The castle is his cage. In this piece, he isn’t alive. He is dead.
Oh, Senan…
His fingers wrap around mine, bringing them to his lips. His soft, warm mouth touches my fingertips as he watches me with such tenderness in his eyes. “I love the way you look at me.”
“And how is that?” My chin lifts, desperate to feel his mouth against my throat.
“The same way you always have. Like you see me. Not my crown. Not my mistakes. Me.”
I trace the indentations below his hip bones until the tips of my fingers tuck into his waistband. “I do see you. Although, I’d like to see more of you,” I confess, giving his waistband a tug.
The corner of his lips lift into that cheeky grin I love so much. “You first.”
My pounding heart skitters to a halt.
Your scars!
He’ll love me anyway.
Are you certain?
Senan’s betrothed is the picture of perfection, a princess with an entire kingdom at her disposal. How could he possibly want me after he learns the truth?
I can’t do this. I can’t.
I shove his left knee, setting him off balance. He seems to understand that I need space and falls to the side, letting me escape from beneath him.
Everything is happening so fast. I didn’t come here to be seduced. I don’t even know why I came. Didn’t I decide to let him go? What am I thinking?
“Allette?”
I stumble away, but then I see the picnic and the moonflowers and I’m so twisted up inside, so sick of indecision and second guessing, that I freeze, suspended in time, neither coming nor going.
When Senan’s hand lands on my back, I flinch. He jerks as if he’s touched a hot coal, his eyes shuttering. I hate that I’ve put distance between us, but I’m struggling and cannot pretend otherwise.
“I’m sorry, Allette. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He adjusts his thick erection inside his trousers. “Being near you again makes it difficult to discern the past from the present. I shall endeavor to control myself better. Please don’t leave me yet.” His eyes glisten and he starts blinking rapidly. “You haven’t even had any cheesecake.”
“I’m not uncomfortable.” If anything, I am too comfortable, lulled into a sense of rightness I have only ever experienced with the man standing a breath away. Everything with Senan is too easy—and that is what makes this so bloody hard.
His brow furrows. “Then tell me what I have done so that I might fix it.”
I want to tell him that nothing is wrong. But I can’t lie, not to him. So I draw in a fortifying breath and tell him the truth. “I don’t want you to see how broken I am.”
His gaze softens, and his quiet sigh fans against my cheek as he holds out his hands. For the first time, I realize how many scars track across his palms. Not just our mating bond but others, small and large, mangled and straight. He must’ve been glamouring them.