I don’t deny it. I can’t. Part of me feels guilty about that, but it’s the truth. If he were just Rip, this wouldn’t be so hard.
“I can’t trust kings.” It’s impossible to keep the sound of regret from my voice. To keep the silent wish from weighing down the words.
He leans forward, bent elbows braced against his knees. “You can trust me.”
The desperation shows. I know it does, because I can’t help the way my eyes flare, the way my body bends toward him. “Prove it.” Not dismissive. Not filled with doubt. My words are pleading with him, demanding for him to do just that.
Please, prove it.
As if he can hear my imploring, Rip unwinds from the chair. His powerful body stands up straight, spikes slowly rising from his arms and back like claws extending from a predator’s paw.
Slowly, that predator in him brings his body closer to mine, one deliberate step at a time. His hands come down on either armrest at my sides, and I plaster my head against the back of the chair as he leans in and steals up all the air.
“I will,” he murmurs, and I let out a puff of a gasp.
Right in front of my eyes, Rip morphs, magic swirling around him like wisps of steam. I’m held immobilized by the waves of his power that gently pulse out. Onyx eyes turn mossy green, scales disappear along with the spikes, ears and bones soften, and tiny fissures reach up his neck to root beneath the scruff of his beard.
My heart pounds uncontrollably as I look at the face of King Ravinger, my hands going slick where they’re bunched in the blanket. Pale skin, forest-green eyes, so masculine and gorgeous that it almost hurts to look at him.
“I’m glad you’re choosing you,” he says quietly, and my lips part, like I want to swallow the rumble of his cadence.
“You are?”
I go completely still as he moves his hand and grips my chin, like he wants to make sure I’m paying attention.
I am.
“Yes, Goldfinch. Because I’m choosing you, too.”
Like a ribbon caught on a wind-bent branch, he lowers, and I lift.
My lips land on his, his tongue sweeps against mine, and then we’re suddenly kissing like we’re starved.
We kiss like two stars colliding, our heat flaring with the threat to burn, while the cold world around us fades in our light. We kiss like we need the taste of one another or we’ll never be able to emerge from the dark.
My entire body bends toward him, every ribbon unwinding, stretching, reaching for him like wings reach for a breeze.
His hand moves to encase my jaw, angling me right where he wants me, and just that—the dominance of him, the strength but utter care—it makes me feel like I could burn forever.
The fire beneath my skin has nothing to do with anger or vendettas. This is pure, hungry, aching want that thrums in the pulse of my veins, refusing to be ignored.
When I nibble on his tongue, he bites down on my bottom lip with an erotic twinge that sweeps a moan from my mouth. He drinks in the sound, calloused hands cradling my face firmly, like he doesn’t want me to slip from his grip.
My ribbons trail out like vines, slinking up his body, wrapping around his arms to pull him closer. A guttural groan thunders from his chest at that, and he deepens the kiss even more, until it’s not just my skin that’s hot, but a needy fire that’s ignited between my legs. He stokes that need even higher when one hand skims down to stroke my ribbons, making a delicious shiver trickle along my back.
Just a kiss. One kiss, and I’m wrecked, because I never want this to stop.
I never realized that a kiss could be like this.
My hands brace against his shoulders again, like I need the reminder that he’ll hold me up, fingers digging into the strong muscles beneath the leather. I resent my gloves. I want to feel him, skin to skin, but I can’t stop to pull them off.
Flakes fall from the sky, dusting us with their chill, but the cold has no hope of touching us. I’m hot all over, passion kindled with an aching temptation of more. I think I’d come right out of my seat if he weren’t bowing over me, his body the lure I’m trying to hook to.
But just when I’m ready to drag him down with me, his lips leave mine.
Our breaths are quickened, the blanket a forgotten pile pooling at my waist. I stare at him as my chest heaves in a rapid pitch, lips tingling with the echo of his hold.
His gaze caresses over my face, and mine does the same, my finger coming up to trace the lines of his rooting power, noting the faint shifting beneath my touch.
He pulls away, or…he tries to. We both look down at my mess of ribbons wrapped around him, like they’ve decided to make him their own personal present.