Page 159 of The Stranger

“That bad?”

“Just… don’t give up your day job.” She makes a valiant attempt at a smile as she sets the glass down.

“Are we fine now?” My tone is as tentative as the knuckle I slide down her cheek. Please say yes. Let me hold you, let my heart regulate.

She nods and I step closer, her lips parting as she releases a trembling breath against the base of my throat. The knot in my stomach loosens. I think I’d half-convinced myself it was permanent. She leans into my palm, her damp, warm cheek pressing against it, then gives her head a tiny shake as if to clear away the last of her disbelief.

“We’re fine,” she says softly.

I brush my thumb across her chin as the bass from the dance floor below seems to beat once more in my blood. “Good.”

“That’s two fines and a good,” she whispers as I coil my hand around the back of her neck and pull her mouth to mine.

As our lips meet, she lets out a quiet breath that sounds like relief. This kiss, it’s everything I want, everything I crave. Everything I worried I’d never experience again. I slide my lips down her neck, wet and open-mouthed, tasting the salt of her, the aftershocks of our quarrel ebbing away.

“Did you think so little of me?” I’m almost afraid to ask, but I do anyway.

“Luc, don’t.” Her arms come up, winding around my neck like vines as she buries her head against my chest.

“How could you think I would dishonour you like that?”

“It’s what men do.” The words are muffled, but I hear their tone. Fait accompli. A proven fact.

“Non, Primrose.” I pull back a little and take her head in my hands. “Not all men.”

A look flitters across her brow in silent disagreement.

“What men?” Who does she know who’d do this?

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Just men, Luc. Boys even.”

All in her experience? I gathered she’s had selfish lovers, but this? “Tell me, Primevère. Who made you think this way? Who did this to you? Because I would not.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

But she’s wrong, and as I slant my lips over hers, I try to tell her so silently as though I could apologize for every feckless man who ever made her doubt herself. As though I could press every thought I have of her into her head—beautiful, brave, precious—and make her absorb them until they drown out every cruel word she has ever believed.

The world narrows around us, the dull thud of the music fading, the taste of whiskey on her tongue sharpening. Kissing isn’t enough, not for either of us. There is no logic in staying in this room, but when have we ever followed its dictates?

39

LUC

“My wildflower.” I press my thumb to the side of her neck, feeling the powerful drumming of her pulse. When she tilts her chin back to give me better access, I put my mouth there and breathe her in before drawing a line down the column of her throat. “Blooming where you please.”

“Here?” Her words are tremulous as my lips find her collarbone and my fingers her nipple. Her body convulses, and that’s answer enough.

“I want you,” I whisper. “Here.” I pull her closer, my cock notched where she’s achingly hot. “And here.” I grab her ass and squeeze as I slide my tongue into her mouth. “I want to be everywhere all at once. Inside you, tasting you, feeding on your pulse.”

Her head tips back, her eyes full of sin and her mouth… Fuck, her mouth. Yes, I want to do that, too.

“That is a very particular-looking smile.” She swipes her thumb over the seam of my mouth.

My mouth twitches. “That’s a very particular tone. Some might even say suggestive.”

She gives a roll of her eyes. “So you don’t care to share.”

Not you, not with anyone. Instead, I admit, “I was thinking about fucking your lovely mouth.” My answer sounds as dark as my thoughts. A beat passes before her lips tip, and she moves her hands to my belt. My cock throbs in regret as I cover them with my own.