But it was so rare that anyone got this close to me and allowed their skin to encounter mine. To touch me. Those who did had been strangers, too. Except when they touched me, I wasn’t really me. I was as nameless as they often were when I let them pull me into shadowy alcoves or behind closed doors and into rooms where things weren’t meant to last. Where I wore a veil even though my face was bare.
But I felt like me in this moment. More than I had in years.
“Kiss me,” he ordered.
My temper flared. I hated being told what to do. And if I were being honest, that had started long ago. Maybe that was one of the reasons I’d been rejected. But his demand made sense. It would appear quite odd for us to just stand here like this, doing nothing but glaring at each other.
So, I kissed him.
A god.
The contact of my mouth against his caused my stomach to pitch like it did when I came too close to the edges of the Cliffs of Sorrow. His lips were cool, but they were somehow soft yet firm, a strangely enticing juxtaposition as they moved against mine. It was the only thing about him that moved. His mouth. The hand on my left thigh and the one on my hip remained still. He was motionless, and I didn’t know why I did what I did next. Could’ve been that impulsivity. Could’ve been my irritation over being in this situation. Could’ve been how still he was. And if I were being completely honest with myself, it could’ve been the possibility that he was from the Shadowlands and served the Primal who’d stolen every chance I had to save my kingdom. All those reasons were probably wrong, but I didn’t care.
I caught his lower lip between my teeth and bit down. Not hard enough to draw blood, but his entire body jerked, and then he wasn’t still any longer.
The god pushed in as his head tilted, deepening the kiss. Nothing about his mouth was soft then. He parted my lips with a fierce stroke of his tongue, and a tight shudder rolled through me at the sharp graze against my lower lip. His teeth. Fangs. Oh, gods, I’d somehow forgotten about that. Fear lit my veins because I knew how sharp they were. I knew what a god could do with them. But something else entered my blood, a wicked and decadent, heady thrill as I flicked my tongue over his. He tasted of something woodsy and smoky—like whiskey. A sound came from him, deep within his throat, and it sent my heart to pounding.
The hand on my thigh curled, his fingers pressing into my skin, becoming an icy brand that somehow scorched my flesh. A wild shiver shimmered through me as his hand left my hip and worked its way between the wall and the back of my head. His fingers curled into my hair, surely loosening the pins keeping my braid in place. I really didn’t care as he drew my head back, as he…kissed me like he wouldn’t allow a single part of my mouth to go unexplored. As if he’d been waiting for ages to do this. I knew that was a silly, whimsical thought, but I kissed him back, utterly forgetting why we were doing this, and only vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps and the deep laughter of an intruder—of the god.
Were all kisses from a god as dangerously intoxicating as this one? That too-faint smidgen of common sense told me I should be worried. What if the Primal did come for me? What if he changed his mind, and I had kissed one of his gods? I should care, but instead I kissed the god even harder because I refused to think about that damn Primal. I let myself exist in the moment.
This felt chaotic, like when I slipped under the surface of the lake and stayed until my lungs burned, and my heart raced, just to see how far I could push myself.
And I felt that now—that need to see how far I could push this. I slid my hands up his shirt, over his chest. The edges of his hair brushed my knuckles. I sank my fingers into the silky strands and pulled him closer. I tipped my hips against his lower stomach. The hand on my thigh slid up and around, over the curve of my ass. The thin undergarment was no barrier against the press of his hand.
He squeezed the flesh there, wringing a gasp from me as he slid his tongue over mine. He drew my lower lip between his teeth and nipped. I cried out at the elicit shock of pleasure and the pain thrumming through my body. His tongue flicked over my lip, soothing the biting sting.
Then his mouth was gone. His forehead rested against mine, and for a handful of seconds, there was nothing but silence between us. Nothing but my pounding heart and his shallow breaths as his hand slid back to my hip. Another moment passed, and then he slowly lowered me to my feet. I forced my fingers to open, to let go of his hair. My hands fell to his chest once more.
Under my palm, his heart beat as fast as mine.
I opened my eyes as the seconds ticked by. He remained there, his forehead against mine, one of his hands still a shield between my head and the wall.
“You,” he murmured, his voice sultry and thick. “You were quite convincing.”
“So were you,” I said, a bit breathlessly.
“I know. I’m very skilled at pretending.”
Pretending? Pretending to do what? Enjoy himself? Kissing me? My eyes narrowed as I shoved him away.
He stepped back, laughing softly as he ran a hand over his head, dragging his hair back from his face.
I stepped away from the wall, turning my attention to the darkened pathway, but I saw nothing in the filtered moonlight. I lifted a finger to my still-throbbing lips, then withdrew it and looked down to see a spot of darkness on the tip of my finger. He’d…
He’d drawn blood.
My head snapped up. “You—”
The god stepped in, folding his hand around my wrist. He lifted my arm, and before I could even wonder what he was about, his mouth closed over my finger, and he sucked. I felt the hard pull in a most shameful way—all the way to my core in a rush of hot, damp heat.
Good gods…
Slowly, he drew his mouth from my finger as his gaze flicked up, catching mine. “My apologies. I should’ve elaborated. I’m very good at pretending to enjoy things I do not, but I was not pretending when I had your tongue in my mouth.”
I stood there as he released my wrist, at an utter loss for what to say for several seconds. “It…it’s very inappropriate to take my blood,”—I heard myself saying—“when I don’t even know your name.”
“That was the only inappropriate thing about what just occurred?”
“Well, no. There was a whole lot of inappropriate in there.”
He chuckled again, the sound rich like dark chocolate. I eyed him. Maybe I was wrong about who he served, or at the very least, he had no knowledge of who I truly was. If he did, I doubted he would’ve kissed me. I started to ask if he knew who I was but stopped, realizing I had to be careful in case he didn’t.
“Why did you stop me from going after those gods?” I asked, curling my hand—and the finger that had been in his mouth.
His brows pinched. “Do I need a reason other than stopping someone from getting themselves killed?”
“Normally, I would say no. But you’re a god, and you said there wasn’t a decent bone in your body.”
He faced me. “Just because I’m not mortal doesn’t mean I run around murdering people or allowing them to get themselves killed.”
I sent a pointed look in the direction of the tunnel entrance.
His chin dipped, his features sharpening in the silvery light. “I am not them,” he said, low and deadly soft.
Hairs along the nape of my neck rose, and I fought the urge to take a step back. “I guess I’m lucky?”