Page 17 of A Sin So Pure

Okay… not going to complain about this seating arrangement.

“You scared him shitless,” I whisper. “You need to be nicer.”

“Not my fault everyone thinks I’ll murder them if they look at me wrong,” she says. “Let me take advantage of it when I can, Mo.”

“But if you’d let me tell people you don’tactuallywant to murder them, then maybe…” I drawl.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Imogen.”

Nora had opened up to me, slowly, over the past four years. I’ve gotten tidbits, small pieces that fit into a larger puzzle that’s taking shape. Like how she’s a patron of the city orphanage and makes sure the kids have all the clothes and school supplies they need. Or how she saved a classmate in House Envy when they were mugged on the street, all to swear them to secrecy about it after the fact.

People assigned the role of monster to her the second she stepped into society. She thinks she has to live up to that expectation forever. I disagree.

“I’ve said this before, but one day I will break down that wall you’ve got up,” I say, tapping her nose with my pointer finger.

She scrunches up her nose, but I see the way she has to fight off her smile.

We settle into watching our classmates play their game. At one point, the underclassman comes back with fresh drinks for us—of which Nora deposits onto the end table without either of us taking a sip. Instead, she leans further into the velvet armchair, pulling me closer to her warmth. I’m angled in such a way that I can lean my head in the crook of her neck while still seeing the board game. Nora’s arm wraps around my middle, gloved fingers dancing circles over my dress. And even with two layers of fabric separating us, the touch still raises gooseflesh.

Breathing in the heady mix of smoke and vanilla wafting off her skin, I fall into a peaceful trance. It’s a slow build, the way my body reacts to her ministrations. We’ve sat like this before, under the guise of there not being enough seats—a silly excuse to touch each other.

Some think I’m being foolish, getting close to someone of high rank in another House, let alone asoul-stealer.

But I know there’s nothing to fear if you aren’t doing anything wrong.

My hands stay folded in my lap, centimeters from where her free one rests, motionless. It takes minutes, or maybe longer, but I inch my hand closer to hers until my pinky brushes the soft leather encasing her thumb. Her fingers tense, then relax as I twine ours together.

I mimic the swipe of her thumb on my waist with mine on her palm.

Her face tilts to mine. Our noses brush.

Nora’s eyes shine like the brightest jewels, the warm light reflecting a multifaceted depth within them.

They flick down, darkening.

My tongue darts out to lick my bottom lip.

Her fingers dig into my side.

My breath stutters.

She leans in. I close my eyes.

Then we’re crashing together.

She tastes of smoke and whiskey, and it reminds me of a winter night spent near the fireplace. Her lips capture mine in a kiss that’s softer than I thought it would be. It’s thrilling, but not frantic. She doesn’t rush the way she explores my mouth.

She savors it.

My lips are cherished by her tongue.

Our kiss doesn’t end as we explore each other. It’s nothing crazy—we’re still in the middle of a party. But Nora doesn’t stop her hands from dropping to my hip or gently brushing over my breast when they travel up to bracket the back of my neck. And I certainly don’t stop mine as they weave into her hair. It’s smooth as silk between my fingers, and I relish the way she hums when I grip it at the root.

“Imogen.”

I rear back from Nora, breaking the kiss. My lips are puffy, parted in shock as I blink up at my brother.

Conor stares down at us with a knowing smirk. His arms are crossed against his wide chest, though one hand comes up to cover his twitching lips as he clears his throat, clearly holding back laughter.

---