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“You are welcome to enjoy the macabre, even if it doesn’t go farther than getting me drunk on the tickle of your fingers.”
Swearing, she covers her face again and rolls away from me. The action pulls her skirt up and displays the zipper I got halfway down her back. I stare for too long at her lacy pink bra strap.
To keep myself from kissing her exposed skin, I think of entirely mundane things. Like taxes and math and lining up data in a spreadsheet, so the automatic calculations code themselves in specific colors at the push of a button…
Never mind. That’s not helping.
“Why aren’t you mad?” she whispers.
“How am I supposed to be mad that you feel safe enough to tell me you don’t actually want sex after you pulled my shirt off and went completely dazed at the sight of me? How am I supposed to be mad when I still feel the dampness of your breath on my skin as you kissed the ugliest parts of me—”
“They’re not ugly.”
“Your tastes are concerning.”
Fragile, she curls her legs up against her chest. “I think you’re beautiful… I think it’s horrible, all the pain you went through, but the idea that you endured such incredible violence and came out so…so kind.” Tears tighten her voice, choking it until it’s barely audible. “I think you’re beautiful.”
I lose utterly all my willpower and drag a fingertip down her spine. In a quick motion, I unlatch her strap, hear a shaking curse fall from her lips, and touch a kiss to her back.
“How?” She quivers. “You have absolutely no experience with women.”
I hum against her warmth. “Yeah. The contraption didn’t seem overly complicated, my dear.” Exhaling, I murmur, “Would it make you feel better if I pretend to be angry with you?”
“Yes. I think so.”
My eyes roll.
Everything in me wants her so badly it hurts, but she’s…
I barely know how to describe it.
She’s air. Water. I didn’t realize I’d been locked in the vacuum of space without either until she stepped into my life.
Fully monotone, I say, “Briar, how dare you not couple with me? I was so looking forward to coitus.”
She chokes on a laugh. “That’s what you’re leading with? You hardly sound upset.”
“I am, clearly, livid.”
“That isn’t clear at all.”
I kiss her back again. “Should I add a swear, perhaps? Would that help? Briar, I can’t believe you—” I curse; I nip. “—told me no. After making me carry you up so many flights of stairs. How selfish. My arms are tired.”
A damp laugh shakes her chest. “Sucks to suck. It’s my body. I’m allowed to change my mind.”
I snake my hand over her waist, rest it on her hip bone. “Don’t lie to me. I own you. Every breath you take is mine. Every thought you have I allow. And I don’t remember telling you to change your mind.”
She swears.
“Too far?”
Her head shakes; I think she’s crying harder now. Garbled, her words leave her lips wet, sticky, and a touch desperate. “No. I’m obsessed.”
“As you should be.” I hold her to me, secure.
A sniffle wracks her frame. “Rowan?”
“Hm?” I kiss the bow of her wing bone.
