Page 30 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
The second my palm pressed against his, I knew I’d made the right decision. A slow song drifted into the library, faint but enough for us to find a rhythm. My fingers gripped his shoulders as his hands slid around my waist.
I forced myself to keep breathing when he stepped forward, and my chest brushed against him. The first step we took was effortless. In sync without trying.
I rested my chin on his shoulder, and my nose brushed against his neck. I felt his Adam’s apple bob against my cheek. “Thank you.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, and the territory we drifted into felt dangerous. Risky. Like it could either be the best decision or the worst decision I’d ever made. I was almost thankful when he said, “Don’t think too much of it,” instead of something that would tip us past the breaking point.
Maybe he saw the million questions running through my head, because he dipped me and spoke into my ear. “Tell that brain of yours to shut up and let us dance.”
“Why?”
He pulled me back up, and his grip on my waist tightened. “Because you’ll find out.”
That he cared about me.
“I already have.”
His eyes darkened as they scanned my face. We’d stopped dancing after the dip, but he still held me, and I still clutched onto his shoulders.
My pulse was erratic.
Damn it, Heart.
My throat closed up.
Not you, too, Throat.
My knees buckled.
I give up, Body.
I kissed him.
Our lips pressed together, and instinct latched onto me as I explored his mouth. His tongue traced my lips. I parted them, and he slipped inside. His tongue stroked the roof of my mouth, and he took a step into me, backing me into the bookcase behind me.
The musty scent of books, and characters, and worlds mixed with his scent of bergamot and blackcurrant. I needed him closer, but I didn’t know how to ask. My hands slid down his shoulders and pulled at the tucked edges of his dress shirt underneath his vest. I dipped my fingers under the shirt and explored the hard edges of his stomach muscles.
His mouth drifted from my lips to my jaw and down my neck. I cried out when his tongue traced my collarbone, then bit down. My right hand wrapped around his body and squeezed his butt cheek, but the phone in his pocket blocked my movement.
As if someone had dumped a bucket of water on my head, I lurched out of the lust fog. What had I done? We were… I didn’t know what we were. Natural born enemies? Accidental friends? Neither felt right.
Maman hadn’t contacted me yet, but I knew she would. I’d been eighteen for a week now. When she contacted me, I could leave. Damian only complicated things. He must have felt my waning enthusiasm because he backed up, giving me space.
My heart warred between feeling grateful and wounded.
It’s not the first time he’s hurt you, Heart. Remember when you first came here?
My heart wasn’t having any of my logic.
He may have hurt me, but he heals so much better.
Damian’s brows furrowed. “Knight?”
Panic lodged itself in my throat, and I forced some words out. Any words. “This means nothing.”
Frustration flashed within his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, Princess."
The lust fog may have eased, but I still felt heavy. Like layers of secrets and history weighed me down as I stood mere feet from the first boy I’d ever kissed. “I need air.”
