Page 112 of Lana Pecherczyk
She finger-combed her hair and glanced over her shoulder at the booth, where the baskets remained beneath scattered books and tattoo supplies. “So we don’t have to use what’s in there?”
“Do whatever you want.”
Her gaze snapped back to him. “I love it when you say things like that. Like you give zero fucks about what anyone thinks.”
“All my fucks are yours.”
“You say the most romantic things,” she joked, but a gleam of satisfaction bled into him through their bond.
The caravan jolted over a particularly rough patch, throwing her forward. Her palms slapped against him to catch herself. Their faces were inches apart.
“I love it when you look at me like that.” He groaned as his hands found her plump bottom, kneading the flesh through silk. “Like … like you really want this.”
“I do,” she whispered.
He ground his erection against her core until her breathing quickened, until her lashes fluttered and her lips parted. How the fuck would he last more than two pumps after five years of abstinence? Panic squeezed his heart with icy fingers.
“What’s wrong?” Hair cascaded over one shoulder as she looked down at him, concern creasing her brow.
He must have let his emotions slip through their bond. He’d been doing that more frequently lately.
“It’s been a while,” he admitted.
“A while for what?” Innocence colored her voice.
Had she not figured it out? He’d danced around the truth, hiding behind clever words. Maybe he’d been better at concealing than he thought. Fuck it. She wanted to know something real about him—here was his chance.
“I haven’t had sex in five years,” he confessed.
“Okay.” She straightened and returned to clearing the tattoo supplies, methodically arranging them on a nearby plate.
His brow furrowed. “You’re not bothered?”
A simple shrug. “Should I be?”
I’m so hard for you, I’m going to destroy you.“No.”
“Okay, then.” She flashed that devious grin of hers and slid off him, leaving him aching as she finished clearing the supplies.
Through the window, moonlit shadows whizzed past. The Great Murder’s location drew closer with each passing minute. If they didn’t complete these rituals soon, they’d miss their opportunity to find the cryptex. And Cloud.
River’s breath caught as Blake lingered in a moonbeam by the table. Daylight screamed. It showed everything. Punched hard. But under the moon, she was still, a whispered secret. Beautiful in a way that hurt.
He saw no rainbows at night, only the echo of them. Black had softened to pale lilacs, ash, and pearl. Every strand of her hair was dipped in ghostlight. He blinked once, then again, but it didn’t fade.
His chest and throat ached.
Because that was it. The moment. The reason his parents still danced in the moonlight, despite the mess.
This was his soul catching up with his body and whispering,It’s her.
He schooled his expression as Blake brought over what she’d dubbed the kink basket with a bounce in her step. The jostling caravan tinkled the basket’s contents like forbidden treasure.She arranged the toys in neat rows across the bed—first by size, then by how brightly each adorned jewel sparkled. She gave them all a razz rating, narrating her reasons, something to do with hidden gems.
He pushed onto his elbows and watched her, feeling that familiar vertigo of falling without wings. It was like that day in his youth when he’d jumped off a cliff with Cloud. And just like then, River had no idea how to survive the plunge without shattering.
Wanting something too much always came with a cost.
Blake would eventually discover he was a disappointment. He’d inevitably fuck up, and then she wouldn’t look at him with such bright-eyed hope. When the ghostlight faded, she’d remember he was the reason things broke, not the one who fixed them.
