“Do you feel better?”

Did I? I wasn’t crying anymore, so I had to. Morgan’s hand helped, rubbing slow, soothing circles on my back.

“Better, maybe.” I sat up on his lap, wiping my eyes with the heel of my hand. “Embarrassed, definitely.”

“Embarrassed?” His hand felt cool on my burning cheek. “What reason do you have to be embarrassed?”

I couldn’t help but press a little harder into his hand as I wondered if he was only humoring me or if he truly didn’t understand. Most of the time, he was so careful not to touch me that even this innocent touch felt amazing.

“I try not to make it a habit of crying like a frightened little girl,” I said, trying to put some humor in my words and failing in the most miserable fashion. “Especially once the danger has passed.”

He stroked my cheek for a few moments, his thumb running back and forth under my eye as he considered me.

“As much as it pains me to say it,” he murmured, “you were in danger tonight. Letting your fear overwhelm you when you were in her hands would have made things more dangerous for you. And not letting that fear out in some fashion now that you’re safe would cripple you in the long run. Never feel embarrassed for your tears, Angelina. They only mark you as human, and I for one envy you for them.”

It was hard to believe he envied my tears, but his expression was so serious, his words so solemn, that it was harder still not to believe his sincerity.

Unsure how to reply, I brushed the most gentle of kisses across his lips, then rested my head on his shoulder again. He resumed his slow stroking of my back.

“I don’t understand,” I said for what felt like the thousandth time since I’d first set foot in the mansion. “Why did she threaten to kill me? What would she gain from it?”

His stroking paused for a second or two before starting again.

“She wanted to make a point. She’s not exactly subtle when it comes to that. She lost patience for subtlety long ago.”

I didn’t bother stifling my snort. That, I had no trouble believing. And even though I thought I knew the answer, I asked, “What point?”

Again, it took him some time to reply. I didn’t mind. He could take all the time he needed as long as he kept me in his arms. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be, after all.

“You heard her. She wanted me to admit I… am attracted to you.”

And he hadn’t admitted it, as I recalled all too acutely. I wanted to ask if he did feel something for me. I wanted to know whom I resembled, having been chosen for my looks—even if I had a small idea of the answer. Wanted to ask if my looks were all he saw in me, or if he liked the person I was, too, at least a little bit. More than anything, I wanted to ask about Melody. I wasn’t naive enough to believe Irene had let the name slip by accident. She’d wanted me to ask. She’d given me a clue or maybe the path to one.

Did I dare use it?

Before I could muster the courage to ask anything, Morgan spoke again in the same quiet, diffident voice, maybe having taken my silence as a question in its own right.

“When you live as long as I have, you grow wary of some words. They only seem to cause more heartache every time you say them.”

He said ‘words,’ but I had a feeling it was just one word he meant, and I had no trouble figuring out which one. I bet you can easily guess, too. Here’s a hint. It starts with L.

Again, his answer only raised more questions. Rather than voice any of them and poke at what sounded like a painful subject for him, I changed gears. We’d had enough pain for one evening.

“You never told me how old you are.”

It clearly wasn’t the response he’d expected. His body shook against mine, and as I raised my head to look at him, I realized he was laughing silently.

“You never asked,” he pointed out.

“Okay. How old are you?”

“My birthday party? That wasn’t for my fortieth birthday. That was the four hundredth.”

At first, the words made no sense, and I was sure I had misheard. But as he watched me, waiting for me to react, the enormity of the number struck me, and I could only gape at him.

Four hundred years.

Sometimes, I could hardly picture myself living into my seventies. It seemed so far away—a lifetime, literally. The world had changed so much already in the couple decades since I’d been born; what would it become in the next five? What would I become?

But to live for four hundred years… Morgan had seen empires rise, wither, and die. He’d seen civilization shifts, and more wars than I cared to think about, and so much technological progress that today’s technology would have been like pure, unfathomable magic to the young man he’d once been. I tried to imagine him as he might have been back then, but I simply couldn’t. It was too strange. Too outrageous. And yet, it never occurred to me to challenge his words.

Morgan smiled ruefully.

“Hard to believe, huh? But it’s the truth. Or, well, if you want to be technical, it was the four hundredth anniversary of my becoming a vampire. My human birthday isn’t for another few months, and I’ll be four hundred and thirty six. But we don’t celebrate those birthdays.”

This precision didn’t help me find words again, quite the contrary. I tried to wrap my mind around it all and berated myself for being so surprised. It wasn’t like I hadn’t suspected. Just because he’d put an actual number on it didn’t change anything.

“Well,” I finally managed to say, and was almost proud when my voice only squeaked a little bit. “I’ve always had boyfriends that were older than me. I guess this just continues the trend.”

His startled look was more than worth my efforts to get a grip on myself.

“Boyfriend?” he repeated, like the word was foreign.

The truth was, I hadn’t thought before saying it. But I didn’t regret it. Maybe he had issues saying certain words, maybe he even thought himself too old to have a girlfriend, but in my world, when you slept with someone more than once or did any of the things we’d done in the past ten days, ‘boyfriend’ definitely applied. And I didn’t care anymore that the ‘sleeping together’ part hadn’t actually happened; I remembered it, it was part of my memories, of our history together, and if he wanted to argue the point, he wouldn’t win the battle.

“You think I sit on just anyone’s lap?” I asked. “Or kiss random men?”

“What I think is that someone forced you to be here, and if she hadn’t—”

“Bullshit,” I cut in. There was no anger to the word, only my refusal to let him hide behind excuses any longer. “And so was what you told Irene about wanting it all to be my choice. Other than being unable to step out of this house, and okay, having to sleep in your bed that time, there isn’t one thing I did that wasn’t my choice. Not one, Morgan. Even when we were in those fantasies, I was still me. A more… liberated me, maybe, but still the same person deep down. Don’t insult me by thinking I don’t know what I really want.”

His eyes darkened, like a night sky made darker by a passing storm. I held his gaze. Had I upset him? I merely wanted him to understand, to know for sure I was with him right now because I wanted to be, and not for any other reason.

The kiss came out of nowhere.

One second, Morgan was looking at me with flat, dark eyes, and I was certain another one of those snark fests was coming up, and I’d end up mad at him again for another silly reason. The next second, his mouth crashed on mine, and his tongue pressed along the seam of my lips until I let him in.

He held my face in his hands, his fingers mussing up my carefully arranged hair. Such large hands, too, and yet he touched me like I was precious porcelain.

Or at least, at first he did.

Those same hands felt more forceful, yet no less tender, when they moved, one to cover my right breast until my nipple tightened to a hard point behind the satin, the other to splay against my back and hold me close.

And close was exactly where I wanted to be.

I clutched his shoulders and deepened the kiss. His tongue tasted of the sweet wine we’d served at the gala, but the kiss itself, its intensity and heat, made me more lightheaded than a glass of wine, or even ten. When I let out a moan into his mouth, I could feel his entire body shuddering against mine. He was always so responsive…

I wanted more of that. I craved more of that. More of his body answering to me, reacting to me, to my touch as well as my pleasure.

My hands drifted from his shoulders and slid over his chest. I thought of opening his shirt and reaching for smooth, toned skin, but I was already past that. There’d be time for caresses later. My fingers descended between us, until they found the hardened proof of his desire for me. I caressed him over the fabric of his pants, pressing my fingertips along the length of his cock and squeezing lightly when I reached the tip. The gasp I drew from him and his thumb roughly playing over one nipple then the other were hardly enough. I needed more. All of him.

Breaking the kiss that was distracting me, I rested my forehead against his shoulder and looked down to finally undo his pants. He hissed when I guided his cock out, his hips pushing into my touch. He was like marble in my hand: heavy, hard, and cool but already warming up. I stroked up and down, catching a bead of precome in my palm. Without thinking, I started to pull away, where I’d be able to slide off his lap and to the floor, between his legs.

Morgan, however, had other ideas.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, and when I looked up to meet his eyes, I could have sworn there were flames or maybe stars flickering in their dark depths.

Before I could figure out what to answer, he drew me closer again, but this time rather than kissing my mouth, he trailed his lips and a line of painless bites along my jaw, then down my neck.

When I flinched, it wasn’t from fear of his mouth, his teeth being in such a vulnerable place; I wasn’t afraid of him, of what he might do. No, I flinched because he had touched the tender spots left by Irene’s fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing the lightest of kisses to the same place, and this time it didn’t hurt. “I should have stayed with you. If I’d known she would come and hurt you—”

He gasped when I squeezed his cock tightly.

“You said yourself she was unpredictable,” I pointed out. “Plus, talking about your mom while I have my hand on your cock? Not sexy.”

He let out a burst of laughter and I liked that sound much better than apologies.

“How about this?” he said, his lips so close to my shoulder that I could feel his grin. “Is this sexy?”

I didn’t have time to ask what he meant. His hands closed on the bodice of my dress, where the draped fabric embraced and molded my breasts. He tugged hard, and the sound of the satin yielding to him and tearing apart was like thunder striking unexpectedly. I gave a token protest, but it was hard to care about my dress when his face plunged to my bare chest and his mouth latched on a puckered nipple and sucked hard. I let out a little cry of surprise, then again when, with his hands supporting my back, he dipped me lower, so that he could feast on my breasts.

I knew he was holding me securely and wouldn’t let me fall, but just the same I was a little dizzy and had to cling to him. Both my hands flew to the back of his head, and my fingers twisted in his hair. It had to be painful, and maybe the low growl that rose from his throat was from pain—or maybe it was one more way to make me feel good as the sound vibrated through my abused nipple and caused my entire body to shake uncontrollably.

“Morgan!”

I was barely aware of crying out his name. I didn’t even know why I did. Did I want him to stop? The feel of his lips, his tongue, even the smallest edge of blunt teeth sucking, nibbling, biting on each of my nipples in turn made me feel raw, inside and out. It was too much, too fast… and perfect. Surely, if he stopped, I’d die of sheer need.

And when he did stop, I could only cry out again.

“No! Don’t…”

I lost my words when he stood, lifting me in his arms, and set me down on the table so that my knees were right on the edge. My heart beating faster than galloping horses, I lay there, looking at the crystal chandelier above me, shaking as I waited for Morgan’s hands, mouth, and cock to return to me. I didn’t have to wait long. His hands sneaked under my dress and slid up my thighs, raising goose bumps in their wake. When he reached the apex of my legs, his fingers stilled, and I smiled.

“Angelina,” he said, his voice holding just a bit of breathless awe. “Naughty, naughty Angelina. You’ve been walking around all evening with no panties?”

I had, indeed. When I was getting dressed, my mind had flashed back repeatedly to the last time I’d worn a beautiful gown, and it’d been all but impossible to remind myself that, no, Morgan and I had not fucked that night. It’d been just as impossible not to hope that it would happen for real during—or after—this new party.

“So very naughty,” he repeated, a single finger now tracing my wet folds before flicking a few times over my clit. “All evening, I couldn’t take my eyes off you, you were so beautiful. But I never guessed…”

With a moan dying on my lips, I raised my head to look at him. He stood between my legs at the edge of the table. At the same time that he pushed two long fingers inside me, his free hand tugged the dress up my legs. I helped, bunching the fabric at my waist, exposing myself to him.

His gaze was pure hunger as it ran over me: from my breasts, spilling out of torn fabric, to my exposed pussy, his fingers pistoning in and out of it. With a wicked smile, he met my eyes again, then guided my right leg up, resting my calf on his shoulder, opening me even more to his eyes and hands. The next time his fingers pulled out, dripping with my own wetness, he didn’t push them back in. Instead, he traced a wet path downward, until those two slick fingertips were circling the other entrance to my body. A jolt of electricity ran through me at that teasing touch, and without thinking I reached down, taking hold of his wrist with both hands, stopping him.

I didn’t say anything, but after a second, he nodded.

“All right,” he said, his fingers running over my thigh and up to my waist. “Next time.”

Before I could object to what sounded very much like a promise, he grabbed my hips and, in one strong pull, drew me closer to him until my ass was hanging over the edge. Surely without his hands on me, I’d have slid off.

He guided my left leg up, a mirror of the right on his shoulder. At the feel of the tip of his cock nudging along my folds, I arched against him, trying to draw him in.

“Come on,” I protested when he evaded my efforts and remained outside of me when I very much wanted him inside. “Don’t tease.”

“Then tell me next time you’ll let me,” he said. He leaned forward so I could see his grin and the gleam in his eyes. “Promise me you’ll let me slide into that tight little ass of yours. You’ve never done it, have you? I’ll make it good for you, Angelina. Make you see stars and beg for more.”

I wasn’t far from begging at that very moment. Holding his cock in his hand, he was rubbing the length against me, coating himself in my juices, all but taunting me with what I couldn’t have yet.

“Please,” I groaned, again trying to push down against him. “I want you.”

“So you’ll let me? Next time?”

I was scared. It’s not that I’m not adventurous in bed, but that one thing had always scared me. When I listened to his quiet words—a plea, really—and met his gaze, I found myself wanting to agree, fear or not.

“Not fair,” I said, reaching for his face and caressing his cheek with a trembling hand. “Don’t you think I’ve been compelled enough?”

He stilled completely and blinked twice as his grin vanished.

“I’m not compelling you,” he said. “I swear I wouldn’t do that.”

Without giving me time to answer, he thrust inside me. One quick, strong push of his hips, and I was so wet that his cock slid fully in, his balls slapping against my ass. The feel of him, so thick, hard, and deep inside me made me cry out again. I think I mentioned it before, but he has a gorgeous cock, and to be filled so completely after a long dry spell…

I didn’t come from just that first thrust, but really, I wasn’t all that far from it.

He gave me a few seconds to get used to the feeling—or maybe he was getting used to it himself. A ragged whisper passed his lips, and although I didn’t understand the word, it sounded a lot like he was swearing. Or maybe praying.

I wanted to ask what he’d said—what language he’d said it in—but he stole my breath away. He pulled back, pushed back in, and again, and again, faster, harder, and my world narrowed down to this. Us. His hands at my waist, gripping hard, holding me close when each one of his thrusts threatened to push my body away from him. His dick ramming inside me, following the rhythm of my galloping heart and breathless moans. His body shaking as much as mine did, his strength coiled, focused on our coupling.

At one point, my high heels fell off my feet, first one then the other. Moments later, without breaking his rhythm, he climbed onto the table, letting my legs fall to wrap around his waist, lowering himself over me so he could kiss my mouth, neck, and breasts; his hips never, ever slowed down. My hands vainly clutched at the smooth table at first, then clasped his shoulders, then his forearms. My fingers tangled in his hair again, tugged his shirt open so I could feel the rippling muscles of his chest.

It must have lasted… I don’t know, really. A nice, long while. But in my mind, all of it, every touch, every slide, every kiss and gasp and encouragement and caress all melded into one glorious instant of infinite pleasure. I didn’t come when he first entered me, no, but I might as well have, because everything that came after that was bathed in the burning light of a lingering orgasm.

When he collapsed on top of me, he was breathing hard and shaking harder still. I tightened my arms around him and smiled, too tired, too satiated to manage a word, or even the smallest of caresses. It was a few seconds before he rolled off me, pulling me close so that we were side by side, both our breathing slowing down as we looked at each other.

A few minutes later, I finally regained the use of speech.

“That… was amazing.”

Well, at least that was what I’d meant to say. What came out was more like a long, satisfied moan. Morgan answered it with a slow kiss that curled my toes and sent another wave of pleasure through my core. Our lips came apart with shared sighs, and we just smiled at each other.

It suddenly occurred to me where we were, and I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing. Morgan raised an eyebrow at me, his smile deepening.

“Are you going to share the joke?”

“I just… You said this is the small dining room? You’re going to have to show me the big one. Because I’ll never be able to eat in here again without blushing until I self-combust.”

His smile widened a little more. He brought a hand to my face and caressed my cheek with two fingers.

“I like it when you blush,” he murmured. “You’re gorgeous. And all that blood suffusing your face… I can almost smell it.”

I shivered, and I couldn’t tell you if it was from the gentleness of his touch or his words.

Despite having tons of questions about him being a vampire, I always felt reluctant to raise the topic on my own. But since he’d alluded to it first…

“You can smell my blood… Do you ever want to taste it?”

When his fingers stilled on my cheek, I knew I had touched a nerve, and I hurried to add, “It isn’t a trick question. I just want to know. Please, don’t shut down now. And don’t lie.”

For a second, a shadow seemed to darken his eyes until they were pitch black and colder than the vast emptiness of space. His gaze dropped down to my lips, and he traced them with a finger as he murmured, “I do. Every time I lay eyes on you. But I said you have nothing to fear from me, and I meant it.”

Which, I supposed, explained why he was often so tense and guarded around me. I was the same way around cigarettes—temptation.

“Why don’t you drink from people?” I asked, and as my mouth moved against his fingers, it was almost as though I was kissing them.

“Why do you ask? Would you want me to be a killer?”

I blinked. The way he said that word, as though it held little meaning… He was trying very hard to pretend he didn’t care, but I was learning to see past his masks.

“Is Delilah a killer?” I asked. “You said people go back to give her more blood. So, she doesn’t kill them, does she?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking—what he was deciding not to tell me.

“It’s easier when we don’t kill,” he finally said. “Less clean up afterward. It didn’t use to matter so much if a body was found in a ditch, but these days it draws too much attention. All she has to do is compel her prey to forget she was even there, or enter their mind and make them believe they merely had great sex. Clean and simple.”

‘She,’ I noticed he said, but I didn’t know why it surprised me. I was the one who had brought up Miss Delilah.

“Aren’t there scars?” I pressed on.

“Our saliva helps with healing. If she’s careful and bites neatly, it looks like little more than bug bites.”

I couldn’t help but try to think back. Bug bites… Had I seen any of those on the people around her over the years? Nothing came to mind. And anyway, despite my own question, it wasn’t Miss Delilah I really wanted to know about.

“You still haven’t answered,” I said, rolling over so I could rest my hands on his chest and my chin on top of them. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do the same?”

He shrugged, although not enough to dislodge me. “I told you before,” he murmured. “I used to. Long ago. And then I decided that wasn’t how I wanted to live.”

I remembered what Irene had said: that he used to take girls given to him like I’d been and not worry about them dying. What had happened for him to change? Had another one of his ‘gifts’ changed his mind about the whole thing? Or had he come to that point on his own? A question was on the tip of my tongue—a name—but I didn’t ask. I happened to think talking about exes while naked was poor bedside manner.

Of course, we weren’t in bed, but just the same.

So instead of asking about Melody, the way Irene certainly hoped I would, I went back to the reason why I’d first asked him about biting.

“A few days ago, you said…”

But was it a good idea to ask about this? I wasn’t so sure anymore.

“I said I wouldn’t bite unless you asked,” he finished my thought with a half smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

And just like that, my doubts vanished. He cared about me, enough to figure out what I didn’t quite say. He’d never hurt me. I trusted him.

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “I thought—”

He cupped the back of my head in his hand even as he interrupted me in a urgent tone. “Don’t say it, Angelina.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” I protested, but hadn’t he just proved how well he could follow my train of thought?

“I can guess. And I know it’d change everything between us.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t give that much of yourself to anyone without wanting something in return. And I can’t give you anything more than I already did.”

I pulled away to lie next to him again, thinking about what he’d said. So yes, I may have been crazy, but I’d been about to offer him a taste of my blood. After what we’d shared, it seemed like the logical next step. And all right, it was useless to admit it, I was curious. More than any sane person should be.

He was right about one thing, at least. If I allowed him to bite me, it would mean a lot to me. More than sex. Not that I think sex is meaningless, far from it, but two consenting adults can enjoy a bit of fun without expecting anything more than shared pleasure. To offer him my blood, to put my life, literally, in his hands… that would have been a first for me. And yes, it would have changed everything.

And it did change everything when it finally happened, but I’m getting ahead of myself again.

“Do you know what I’d like right now?” I said after a couple of minutes.

He didn’t reply, but I could practically feel his wariness. He thought I was going to talk about blood and biting again. I propped myself up onto an elbow so I could look straight into his eyes when I said, “I’d like you to take me to bed. And I’d like you to make love to me again. And then I’d like to fall asleep by your side and wake up in the morning with you still next to me. And maybe make love again. That’s what I’d like. You. Nothing more.”

He looked at me for a long time with such intensity that it almost scared me.

It wasn’t his gaze that scared me; I’d long since grown used to the deep, near endless darkness of his eyes.

No, I was scared of myself. Of what I’d said.

I was scared that I’d scared him, that I’d asked for too much. I’d used the word love. Hadn’t he just said he was already giving me everything he had to give? Did I have to push for more?

Of course I did. I wanted it all, even what he had hinted he couldn’t or wouldn’t give. Too greedy for my own good…

And then…

And then he did that thing that seemed to happen with frightening regularity: he surprised me.

“You know what?” His words were low, rough—visceral. “I think I’d like that, too.”

Almost too fast for my eyes to follow him, he sat up, then stood. He swept me off the table and into his arms, and I couldn’t help letting out a startled laugh when he twirled me, right there in the middle of the dining room, making me feel like I was flying.

I was still grinning from ear to ear when he carried me out into the hallway and to my suite. With my arms around his neck and my head on his shoulder, I felt at home.

“This carrying thing is even better in reality than in fantasy,” I said, pressing small kisses to his shoulder and neck.

He didn’t reply, but I thought he held me even more tightly.

In my bedroom, he set me down by the bed. He’d torn my dress earlier, but now his fingers couldn’t have been more delicate when he took what was left of it off me.

“You owe me a new dress,” I teased, as I returned the favor and undressed him.

“New dress, check.” He nodded. “What else do you want? What was it you said last night? You wanted me to kiss you and throw you on the bed and—”

I wanted that, yes, but just hearing him say the words—purring them, really—made lust flow through me like a tide that swept away everything, leaving only need behind.

I threw my arms around him, crushed my breasts to his chest and my mouth to his. Every inch of my skin burned with renewed desire for him, and every inch of his cool skin was almost enough to quench my need.

Almost, but not quite.

He picked me up again. This time, we didn’t go far. He set me on the bed, and I only had time to slide further toward the middle of the mattress before he was inside me. I didn’t even see him move. His burst of speed was breathtaking—or maybe it was the feeling of being filled once more, his thick cock stretching me again. He pulled back right away and, without thinking, I clutched his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin.

He took a few fast thrusts, each hard enough to make me cry out. My inner walls tightened around his cock as my body tried to capture him along with more pleasure.

I stopped him with four stammered words.

“This… this is next time.”

I couldn’t say what came upon me. Maybe it was because he hadn’t let me offer him my blood, but I knew he wanted this. Maybe I wanted to give him something else, something more, something I’d never shared with anyone else and that would be ours only. Or maybe I wanted it for me. I’d never trusted anyone to touch me there and make it feel good, but if anyone could, it had to be Morgan. And yes, I did trust him with all that I had, all that I was.

I don’t know if he heard any of that in my words or saw it on my face, but he stilled mid-thrust and watched me, his eyes wide, hungry, gleaming with something I wasn’t sure I could name.

“Oh, Angelina.” He practically purred my name. Rather than pulling away as I expected him to, he lowered himself on top of me, then rolled us to our sides. He was still inside me, and when he guided my leg on top of his with gentle hands, he opened me more to his now slow, shallow thrusts.

“How do you always manage to surprise me?” he murmured in between small kisses lavished upon my face.

I grinned and captured his lips for a deeper kiss. It was nice to know I could surprise him when he always seemed so collected and aloof.

We kept it at that. Small slips and slides, kisses, caresses from our fingertips. Sweet, slow, and perfect right until the moment when we found pleasure again, together. There’d be other ‘next times.’

As we lay together, our bodies still joined though now immobile, I watched him watch me, and could almost see myself reflected in the darkness of his eyes. I could see us. And I liked what I saw. It didn’t matter what he was or how we’d come to be together. What mattered was how good I felt right there in his arms.

Words started to bubble up inside me. I was loath to break the gentle silence that bathed us, but at the same time if I didn’t say it now, I knew I’d regret it. I began with one whispered word.

“Morgan?”

He raised a hand to my cheek and caressed it with a finger.

“Angelina?” he said in that low, rumbling voice, and oh, it wasn’t fair that he could affect me so much with nothing more than my name.

I unconsciously arched toward him, and he pressed back. He wasn’t ready quite yet, but soon… I took a deep breath and plunged in.

“I don’t want you to believe I’m trying to force your hand. You don’t have to say anything. Nothing has to change. I just want to say this aloud. At times you really irritate me, and when you close yourself off, I get so mad I could scream at you until I’m blue in the face.”

When his lips started to curl up into a grin, I knew he was about to tease me, so I pressed a finger to his lips to shush him preemptively.

“But when you open up,” I continued, “when you let me in, when you stop hiding and let me see the real you… I think I’m falling… No. I’m already in love with you.”

His finger stopped stroking my face and remained there, a welcome presence. Surprise slowly took over his features like sunrise spreading on the horizon, and I couldn’t help but smile at how stunned he looked. Had he not seen this coming? Really?

I caressed his lips, then leaned forward to kiss him, just my smile against his mouth, as chaste as could be after everything we’d done tonight. I closed my eyes. I was happy.

 

*