Page 86 of Too Hexed to Handle

He pauses. ‘You don’t want gentle?’

‘I want you to lose control,’ I reply. ‘Because isn’t that what love is? It’s messy and terrifying, and it’s giving all of yourself to someone knowing it might go wrong, but it’s worth the risk to have that feeling, even for the briefest of moments.’

‘Dais –’

‘I’m not going to pretend that one day you won’t lose me. I could be pecked to death by birds tomorrow, but –’ My impassioned speech is interrupted by his splutter of laughter, which is rude, honestly. It’s a legitimate concern of mine. Once he’s composed himself, I continue. ‘Anything could happen at any time, but won’t it have been worth it, to have had me? Truly, and fully, had me? You have me, Astin.’ My voice is barely a whisper as I cup his cheek and finish, ‘So have me.’

His gaze flickers, and then it snaps. That cresting wave breaks. His pupils go dark. He hitches my knees to my chest, pushing in deeper, one final moment of carefully measured control, before we’re both lost, a tangle of limbs, of tongues and teeth and lips, of fingers grasping for every inch of skin we can find.

He pulls me upright until I’m sinking down on him, my head thrown back as he places open-mouthed kisses along my chest. My eyes flutter shut as pleasure builds, and for once I’m not scrabbling in the dark, searching for the small amount of joy only I can see, but instead I’m surrounded by blinding light because joy is all I know, all there is to find, with Astin panting my name and his hands on my body, because he’s here, and he’s alive, and he wants me, Souleater and all.

I cry out as that pleasure peaks, and he captures the sound with his mouth until we’re falling together, tumbling over the precipice as one. My spine arches as I clench around him, while he groans a curse, shuddering beneath me.

I can’t help but giggle once he’s settled at my side, tucking me against him.

He raises a brow. ‘What’s funny?’

‘Nothing.’ I grin. ‘I’m just happy.’

Deliriously, deliciously happy. There’s an orb inside my chest, burning brightly, a glowing sun that swells and swells the more I’m with him.

He kisses the top of my forehead. ‘Mm. Me too.’

My smile, if it’s possible, grows. ‘That’s an emotion, if you hadn’t noticed. Happiness.’

If he can feel that, he can feel anything. He knows exactly what I’m insinuating, but he offers no comment, instead pulling me so I’m draped over him. I refrain from pointing out he’s acting awfully clingy for someone who claims to be heartless.

‘So what do you think? Five stars at last?’ he asks, tucking my head beneath his chin. ‘We had to get lucky with a room eventually.’

‘Definitely a higher thread count than the last place. Plus, no lumps in the mattress. Although,’ I add slyly, ‘some might argue we got lucky with every room. I’d have been secretly disappointed to find two beds.’

I don’t need to look to know his eyes will be rolling. ‘We weren’t lucky in the Duck in the Dark. Sleeping next to you wearing that nightdress almost killed me.’ He strokes a slow, lazy path down my arm. ‘I wanted to rip it off you.’

‘I wouldn’t have objected.’ I snuggle closer, slurring my words as a wave of exhaustion hits me. Light still shines through the curtains, but the events of the last few days are catching up with me.

‘Hm.’ He presses a kiss to my forehead, while his hand glides down my arm. ‘I am, you know.’

‘You are what?’

‘Earlier, you said, You’re mine, and you’re right. I am. But not because I’m your loophole. I’m just . . . yours.’

That feeling in my chest swells to the point I think it might burst.

I’m just yours.

They might not be the three words I’ve imagined, the ones I’ve been desperate to hear my whole life, but somehow, they’re better.

Coming from him, they’re everything.

27

The problem with kissing is that it’s very distracting.

I am an addict. Despite my drowsiness, we don’t sleep straight away, first taking a much-needed bath that lasts far longer than any bath I’ve had before – he washes my hair for me, mouth barely leaving mine – before ordering food to the room. As soon as we wake the next morning, I’m kissing him again, as though needing to make up for lost time. Two years’ worth. That is a whole 730 days of kissing the man owes me. He may as well glue his mouth to mine.

He’s initially enthusiastic, but when it becomes clear I have no intention of dismounting any time soon, he gently pushes me off and climbs out of bed. I mewl in protest.

‘We need to reach the ruins before this party starts.’ He begins retrieving his clothes from the floor. I have never wanted to set fire to them more in my life. This isn’t the time for getting dressed. It’s the time for – ‘Do you think . . . Daisy, are you listening?’