Page 72 of Molt

August looks like he wishes he could pull the words back inside his mouth.

“August...”

“No.” He backs away. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re happy.”

My eyes burn. “I’m not.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“So are you.”

“You love me?”

He laughs without humor. “Eight fucking lifetimes and you still need confirmation?”

“I don’t remember them.”

His face falls.

“So this is the first time you’ve ever told me.”

Not one of them.

Me.

He understands. “Yes.”

Something cracks inside me.

I reach for him. He reaches for me at the same time. And whatever restraint we had left dies.

I collide with his chest. His arms wrap around me. His mouth finds mine. Or mine finds his.

I don’t know. I don’t care.

The kiss is nothing like the first one.

That one surprised us. This one consumes.

August kisses me like he’s starving. Like thirty-eight years have been sitting between his ribs waiting for somewhere to go.

My fingers fist in his shirt. His hand slides into my hair. His other arm pulls me closer. And my body recognizes everything.

The angle of his mouth. The way his thumb presses beneath my jaw. The tiny pause before he deepens the kiss.

I know him.

God help me.

I know him.

My back hits the wall.

August breaks away just enough to breathe. “This is a terrible idea.”