Of course he did not break it.
When she spoke he could feel the muscles of her throat as she shaped the words, as she swallowed. As tenderly as he’d taken it in his teeth, he let it settle back against her skin.
He grinned at the irony of it, how different this conversation had gone a year ago. How much had changed, and how much still lingered – the firework-feelings between them, the way he always walked on holy, unsteady ground when he walked next to her.
“Okay,” he said simply, and followed the curve of her throat, a golden bow pulled back, to where her pulse ran just below her jaw. A breath there, and a touch, and his own heartbeat running hot in his own throat, pounding away in his chest like it was trying to catch his attention.
But it didn’t need caught; it wasn’t wandering anywhere. His body was all want turning to need and the heat rolling off her only built in him a kind of pre-storm anticipation, the crazed energy that ratcheted up and up before the lightning scattered everything to bits.
He traced the line of her jaw up to her cheek, barely touching. His chest grazed her shoulder and he wondered if she could feel the stutter of his heart, the way she made it too big to fit his ribcage. How easily she set him on edge.
“I promise.” He whispered it into the curve of her ear, soft enough the words hardly did more than stir the fine golden hairs. They were rough, cinder-and-smoke syllables; how quick his body was to betray him.
If he caved to it now, the things it sang for, would it be a sin? Acton has never been an innocent man.
But even his breathing was near to hitching, and he stepped away from her with regret, already missing the heat. His gaze was ravenous, bright enough to burn where it met hers. “You should get back,” he said, as casually as though they’d strolled away from some picnic. The way he watched her, though, belied any composure; Acton devoured her with his eyes. “Or Tempus might smite you after all, and I’d hate to miss my tour.”
Or stay, his expression said, and we’ll worship together and both be struck down–
“Good luck, Goldilocks,” he drawled in the end, and nodded back the way they’d come.
In the end it was a relief to watch her walk back alone, and he waited until the last of her gold had gone from view before letting out a long-held, shuddering breath.
He wondered if Raum would believe him if he said he’d been praying.
YOU'VE GOT YOUR FINGER ON THE TRIGGER
BUT YOUR TRIGGER FINGER'S MINE
@
