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Worshiping me. His kisses felt like a prayer. Or an answer to one.
He moved back to my lips then, and the kiss changed. His mouth opened, his tongue touching my lower lip as if he were asking a question. I parted my lips, and suddenly, I wasn’t being worshiped anymore.
I was being devoured. His tongue invaded my mouth, plundered me, stripped away all my defenses. Tentatively, I responded, exploring his mouth as his hands gripped my waist, then moved up over my ribcage, spanning my torso, his thumbs brushing the very bottom swell of my breasts.
My nipples tightened, and I gasped as he moved his thumbs back and forth, mimicking the way his tongue moved in my mouth.
What would it feel like to have his mouth there, his tongue on my breasts? I squeezed my thighs together as a new fire kindled in my center, sending flames to lick at my core. What would it feel like to be kissed… everywhere?
My small whimper was lost in Luke’s mouth as he tasted me thoroughly, almost savagely, his hands moving over my arms and shoulders now, and to my neck, pulling my short hair back from my ears, his strong fingers mapping every inch of me that he could reach. As if he was memorizing this moment, rubbing his fire and caramel scent as deeply into me as he could, and taking my own as he went.
The kiss had been a spark that had grown into a bonfire of need, and I fought to keep every inhibition I had from burning away. I longed to have his arms around me, his lips touching me everywhere, his tongue moving over the hidden parts of me that pounded in time to my pulse, that ached with need.
“Luke?” I murmured, taking a quick breath, pulling back. Did he feel this, too?
“Oh, Flor,” he moaned against my neck. “I’ve waited my whole life for this.”
His whole life? What did that mean? I tried to break away, but he buried his face in my neck, inhaling my scent.
“Cinnamon and sugar and jasmine… I can’t believe I’ll never have the chance to…”
To what? My mind was spinning, and some part of me wanted to reassure him that he would get the chance to do whatever. He would; I wouldn’t leave.
But the thought of staying here was like an icy bucket of water poured over me.
Shivering, as if I’d only narrowly escaped some unseen danger, I pulled back, extracting my arms from his embrace. Luke groaned, one hand moving to his abdomen, the other to cover his face.
“Luke?” Had I hurt him again? He opened his eyes, and I saw that he was suffering. But I could tell his frustration wasn’t directed at me.
“I didn’t deserve that kiss, Flor,” he murmured. “I didn’t deserve that, or any part of you. I never did. I’m glad… I’m glad you’re going.” My gut churned like I might be sick, but he went on. “Find someone, some pack, that’ll do right by you. That’ll protect you, treasure you. That’ll make you feel like you don’t have to hide who you are, how strong you are. How you’re different. I wish I could have been that for you. I hope someday you can forgive me.”
How I was different? What did he mean? I swallowed to speak, but before I could frame the question, he was walking away.
I wanted to smack him. I wanted to ask what he meant. I wanted to insist that he come back and kiss me again. Instead, for some reason, I yelled. “Well, I don’t forgive you! And I didn’t even like that kiss. It was gross, and wet, and… disgusting!” The air around me filled with the metallic scent of a lie.
His shoulders shook as he sped up. That rat’s ass.
“Are you laughing? Luke Callaway, I’ll never let your mop water mouth near mine again, do you hear me? Not ever!”
He vanished around a corner.
And from my life.
36
Rejected Again
FLOR
Istayed mad as long as I could. It helped with the hollow feeling that crept through me as I got ready to leave Southern forever.
“You don’t have anything else to pack, little flower?” Brand asked, nodding to the bag I’d found at the end of my bed. It had Luke’s scent on it, but inside were all girl things: a pink toothbrush, some small bottles of conditioner and moisturizer, and a comb with rhinestones in it that looked exactly like one I’d had for a few days when I was around ten, which some ranked girls had taken from my school bag.
I shook my head, and Brand took the bag in one hand and my arm with the other. I tsked and switched sides, so my right hand was free.
He glanced at the handle of my steak knife and nodded, understanding immediately.
Finnick said, his tone as full of starch as ever, “You know you won’t need that knife at Northern. They have real weapons. Margarette will give you anything you want. Weapons, jewelry, clothing.”
