Page 208 of The Incendiary

I knew what would distract him enough to keep him from asking. And I felt empty inside. Inescapably desperate to feel something safe, warm, and freeing. To feel alive.

So I did something I wasn’t proud of.

“Elias.” I swallowed thickly. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

His brow rose upon realizing I was giving him permission. I hated myself for it, but I hated the thought of him knowing the truth of my heart even more.

“Okay.” His hand rose to cup my cheek. “We don’t have to talk.”

I closed my eyes and resigned myself to the touch of his lips against my own, even if just to protect my secrets for one more day. When I didn’t object, he kissed me more fiercely. It felt absent-mindedly good. Smooth, like everything he did, if I focused on the sensations and not who made me feel them.

His tongue sought mine. I had to force myself to part my lips and let him in. The pace of his breathing increased as he guided my legs open, shifting us so he rested on top as he dove into my neck to nip and suck my skin into his mouth.

My sadness quickly became guilt when the heat and sweetness of his breath sent goose bumps across my skin. When he trailed his lips along my chin and rested in the cradle of my hips, my back arched and my body begged for more touch. Every part of me begged for connection and safety.

It felt wrong, but I let him slide his hand beneath my shirt and brush over my stomach. He moaned into my mouth, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the rush of arousal that I expected the sound to pull from me. It barely came. When he applied perfect pressure with his hand to my ribs and stroked the underside of my breast with his thumb, I sucked in a ragged breath and without meaning to, bit down on his lip until I drew blood.

He groaned, liking it a little too much. It had been defensive. I hadn’t meant for it to entice him. “Fuck, Ary,” he hissed, rolling his hips against me.

At the feel of his erection against my hip, my mind went somewhere else. Like a brutal, vengeful strike of lightning, I disappeared from the present and my heart said no. My stomach clenched, my throat burned with rejection. The memory of that night in Brinnea with Gavin rushed through me, fleeting and involuntary. One night had been enough to ruin me. Ruin this. The memory of his scarred, callused hands caressing the naked parts of me I gave him. The way he held me, gripped me, needed me, moaned against my mouth and tasted the skin of my neck with the desperation of a starving man.

I couldn’t escape Gavin Smyth. A very small, tired part of me wanted to, and the rest of me prayed that I never would.

“Eli?” I abruptly parted our mouths, expecting to feel empty from the loss of his kiss, but I didn’t. “Can we go slower?”

His sudden bewilderment told me a woman had never asked him that before. But I was at fault for initiating this.

“Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat, leaning back to give me space. Shame devoured me when I noticed his very hard erection pressing against the seam of his pants. “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to⁠—”

“I know. If I wasn’t sure, I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

Elias shifted on the bed a few feet away. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” I assured him, forcing a smile. “I just still need some time.”

We sat in awkward silence as I processed how I was supposed to make it through my wedding night when this was how I reacted to kissing him. He said he didn’t expect anything from me, and I believed him. Eventually, the rise and fall of his chest slowed, and he said, “Can I ask you something?”

No. Say no.

“Sure,” I answered.

He wetted his lips and took my hand. “What happened in Brinnea when you were alone with him? You never talk about it.” His face twisted in apprehension. Or disgust. I couldn’t tell. “You’ve never told me what happened.”

I hadn’t even told Gemma what happened or almost happened. Gods, I wished it had. Maybe having that experience with Gavin would have made this easier.

“You can talk to me,” he pressed on, but I stared at the rug on the floor of the room. “If he’s why you don’t want to… shit,” he cursed under his breath when I turned away on impulse. “If I could bring him back just to kill him myself, I would.” He gently spun me back to face him, worriedly cringing at my sorrow. “Gods, Ary, what the hell did he do to you?”

I was so tired of that fucking question.

“Promise me you’ll never ask me that again,” I snapped.

“Ary—”

“Promise me, Elias.” I swallowed thickly and scraped up the courage to meet his gaze, tears or no tears, it didn’t matter. He already thought the worst. “Please.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “I promise.”

I stood from the bed, refusing to blur any more lines tonight. “I’m tired. We’ve both had a long day, and we have another one tomorrow.”