Page 107 of To Dance with Death

He brushes away the gathered curls, damp as they are, and presses a kiss to the bud of my shoulder.

I clamp my hands around his neck, and his mouth chases mine. This time, the pace is different, frantic. Like a ticking clock. Like this is the only moment we have, and perhaps it is. I refuse to wasteit.

The fervor becomes overwhelming.

I am his, fully and completely. No matter what happens. Perhaps I will fall to pieces tomorrow, but I havethis momentto tell him, to prove without words, that I love him. I love all the broken pieces. They mirror my own. Those who should have loved us did not, and we had to find our own way. Survive, against all the odds.

His arms are warm as he holds me, but that isn’t enough.

I love you,I convince him with my touch. I say it with the press of my palm, there on his chest, and again with the bow of my lips, set over the wild beat of his heart. His skin is smooth, velvet-soft. And here, in the shelter of his body, I feel like silk. Delicate and malleable.

And despite the desire I see in him, he is controlled. So I take the initiative, as nervous as I am. My trembling fingers work my chemise the rest of the way off.

I find I can’t look at him when I do.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, with someone as experienced as him. I am more innocent in this regard, though I imagine he probably assumes otherwise. My breathing picks up at the thought, anxiety trickling in. I love him so much—but what if I’m not what he imagined?

As if sensing my worry, he cups my face, looking into my eyes. “If this is too much, at any point, we can stop.” A sheen of mist coats the both of us, and it’s as if we’re sparkling against the low light.

My heartbeat is frenetic, yet so is his. I’ve only ever done something like this once, with a boy from the theater. The first one to ever show interest in me. He had been kind to me for months,assisted me with my workload, and I’d liked his company. Then one day, at the end of a show, he’d come into my dressing room, and I…I had felt obligated.

“I’m only afraid of disappointing you,” I admit.

He grins against my lips. “Vasalie, you have altered my very existence. My world is made brighter from your presence. I am fortunate to so much asholdyou.Disappointmentis not a word in my vocabulary—not with you.” He pulls a few of my curls forward, tousling them lovingly.

“It’s just that I want it to be good for you, too.”

Smiling, he leans in to kiss the pulse point on my throat. “This is already everything.Youare everything.”

My eyes burn at that.

“I want this,” I breathe, pulling one of his hands from my cheek. I press my lips to his fingers. “All of it.”

His eyes shutter closed as if that sensation alone is enough to do him in.

And indeed, he takes care with me, reading my signals, as attentive as a workman to his craft. Like I am art he is forming with his hands, like glass spun and shaped carefully atop a flame.

He cares about every sensation I feel, and there are no expectations beyond that. Gently, he lays me down again, making sure my neck is comfortable, and then his hands and lips chart the rest of me with so much tenderness I want to weep.

I will wake up, and this will have been a dream, I think. The softness of his mouth finds the space between my breasts, my sternum, my navel, and lower still. The rush is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. There is nothing but the roar of the waterfall and the sensation of him, a sensation that nearly does me in.

My nerves are alight, and I can take it no longer. I feel antsy, squirming and itching with the need to lavish my own affection, and that, he allows—barely. I make it only a few minutes, attempting to return his devotion, before he’s reaching, dragging me up the length of him.

I could die like this and not feel regret.

And when he moves between my thighs, the world tilts.

I cling to him, my hands gripping his shoulders, squeezing as if I could pull him closer. Finally, when I’m about to beg, he guides himself to me. Then he’s over me, moving with me, and I am so warm, so consumed, soimpassioned,my heart will surely burst.

Every ounce of what I feel for him is magnified tenfold—because I feel it in response.

That alone brings me to shattering, both my body and soul coming undone beneath him. And when he follows me a moment later, his breath shaping my name into my ear…the tears come once more.

I think it might have been worth it to drown.

I wake some hours later.

The aurora gilds the top of the mountains, the skyline a soft, pale lavender. Early morning, before most deign to rise. In fact, I wonder if I’m dreaming—if last night was a dream. Yet I can feel the reality of what happened all over me, my sleep-addled body exhausted after hours of—