Page 30 of Moth to Her Flame

His wings shift, catching more light, and his expression becomes almost painful in its intensity. “Are you sure?”

The question carries weight beyond its simple words. Are you sure about this step? About crossing this line? About wanting this?

“Yes.” The word comes out steady despite my racing heart. “One kiss. Then you can go back to being principled and sleeping in the hallway.”

For a moment, he remains motionless. Then, with deliberate grace, he turns fully toward me and takes one step forward. Then another. His approach is measured, controlled, but his wings betray him—they’re starting to glow with that familiar golden light, pulsing brighter with each step.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Riven

Time slows to honey-thick stillness as each step brings me closer to her. The crystal light catches auburn highlights in her hair, turns her skin to pearl, makes her eyes luminous with anticipation and something deeper that sets my wings trembling.

My antennae detect the subtle changes in the air between us—the quickening of her breath, the slight elevation in her temperature, the delicate shifts in her scent that speak of attraction rather than fear. The combination is intoxicating, making my head spin with possibilities.

Three steps away. Two. One.

Close enough now to count her eyelashes, though the light is dim; to see the slight tremble in her plush lower lip; to detect the faint traces of coffee and mint on her breath. My wings unfurl of their own accord, curving forward to create a private universe around us. Not touching—not yet—but ready to enfold her at the slightest invitation.

“Last chance to change your mind.” The words scrape my throat, rough with need that’s been building for weeks. My wings cast shifting patterns across her face as she stands before me, no trace of her former fear or repulsion in her expression.

Her response is wordless but clear—she tilts her chin up, eyes heavy-lidded and trusting. The sight punches the air from my lungs. This woman who once leveled a gun at my chest now offers herself freely, her heartbeat thrumming quick but steady beneath her skin.

Bringing one hand up, I let it hover just beside her cheek, not quite touching, but close enough she can feel its warmth. My other hand mirrors the gesture on her opposite side, creating a frame for her face without making contact. The restraint required burns through my veins like lightning.

Slowly, giving her time to retreat, I lower my head until our breath mingles. My antennae quiver as they pick up the subtle changes in her scent, which is now infused with the sweet undercurrent of attraction.

The effect is stronger than whiskey. My wings flare brighter, casting patterns across her upturned face that look like the sun and moon and stars.

Her lids flutter closed, dark lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. The first brush of my lips against hers is gossamer-light, testing, reveling, cherishing. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat that vibrates through my entire being. The slight catch in her breathing sends electricity racing through my wings, making their patterns shift and swirl like captured starlight.

My antennae detect every minute shift in her body language—the way she sways slightly forward, blood rushing beneath her skin, pupils dilating.

Taking these small signs as permission, I deepen the kiss with deliberate patience. Her lips are soft, warm, yielding beneath mine as I map their texture, memorize their shape. Each gentle press and retreat builds something between us, something that makes my wings flare brighter until we’re bathed in golden radiance.

My probe tentatively slides along the seam of her lips with utmost gentleness, learning her, memorizing her. She tastes like midnight broadcasts and starlight, like truth sought and mysteries solved. Like home and hope and everything I never knew I needed until the moment I first saw her—even before the mate bond sprang to life. My wings curl closer, still not touching but creating a cocoon of light and warmth around us both.

Time loses meaning as I explore her mouth with tender focus, learning what makes her breath hitch. Each tiny gasp feels like triumph, every subtle shift of her body against mine sends new patterns of light dancing across my wings. The kiss remains gentle but thorough, a slow dance of discovery that sets every nerve ending humming.

Her fingers find my antennae, and the dual sensation of her touch and taste nearly undoes me. I can’t stifle the soft moan of need that slips through my lips.

The urge to touch her properly, to pull her against me, to let my hands and wings learn every curve and plane of her body, burns like wildfire in my blood. But this moment is too precious for haste. This first kiss is a gateway, a threshold, a beginning that deserves reverence.

So I pour weeks of longing and everything I can’t yet say into the kiss. Every moment of watching her from afar, every night spentachingfor her touch, every dream of what could be—I weave them all into this careful exploration of her mouth. My wings shimmer in time with my heartbeat, creating a light show that paints her skin with liquid gold.

When she finally pulls back to breathe, the sight of her steals what little oxygen remains in my lungs. Her lips are rosy and slightly swollen, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark with wonder. Little sparks of golden light bathe her hair like a glitter cloud of fireflies, remnants of my wings’ glow. She looks enchanted, enchanting.

“Riven…” she whispers, voice husky in a way that makes my cock throb. “That was…”

“Just the beginning,” I promise softly. After trailing my wing tip gently down her cheek, I force myself to step back before the temptation to kiss her again becomes irresistible. “But for tonight, it’s enough. Yes?”

The look she gives me—part frustration, part understanding, all heat—nearly breaks my resolve. But she deserves more than a rushed encounter born of newfound attraction. She deserves courtship, no matter how unconventional. Deserves to be absolutely certain about each step we take together.

So I retreat to the doorway, wings still glowing but now wrapped tight against my back in an effort to maintain control. “Sweet dreams.”

Her answering smile holds promises that make my heart thunder. “Goodnight, Riven.”

Settling into my guard position outside her door, my back against the rock wall, one leg bent like a flamingo, I press my fingers to my lips, still tingling from her kiss. My wings refuse to stop glowing, broadcasting my joy to anyone who passes.

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