Page 90 of A Bride for the Winter King
“Whether you marry me or not, I’m a Shadow huntress. I won’t cower and hide in the new world. If a war is coming, I’ll beready.” She stands on her tiptoes to kiss me, the invisible threads tying us together stronger than ever.
I shiver all over, addicted to the rush, and graze the length of her spine before slipping my fingers below the boning of her corset.
“Wait.” She tears herself away, panting hard.
A heavy lump pulses in my throat as she flees from my grasp, and the sight of her standing by the window makes me quake with fear.
“How long were you and Iris married?” she asks.
“A little more than a year.”
Her clear gray eyes widen, and I can tell it’s not the figure she expected.
“Believe me, it felt a lot longer. My longest marriage to date,” I chuckle darkly. “The poems I wrote after her death—those that Paul cherry-picked and published without my consent in a concerted effort to rehabilitate my reputation—sparked countless tales of sorrow and undying love. His efforts portrayed our marriage as tragic and romantic, ignoring how short and wretched it truly was.” I tuck my hands in my pockets and look around the room. “No one but me has stepped foot in this room in fifty years…”
Has it always been this small?
Lori glances at the bed with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. “I shouldn’t be in here.” She moves to leave, but I sweep her up in my arms.
“No, I hate this…shrine. I hate this bed. And those candles. I hate that it’s all still here, untouched. Let’s desecrate it together.” I set her down on the piano.
The keys sink under her weight in a jarring cacophony as she spreads her legs and grabs a fist of my shirt, tugging me closer. “You only want me because I look like your dead wife. That’s fucked up.”
I bury my smile in her wavy hair. “If I’m so bad, why do you keep coming back?”
Every time we do this, she takes more and more of me. She thinks I only like her because of her resemblance to Iris, but that’s actually what I hate most about her.
She fiddles with her fingers, suddenly absorbed by the shape of her thumb. “I thought—I figured thatmaybe, I could be Iris’s lost soul.”
“You’re nothing like her.”
She clicks her tongue in a chiding fashion. “Come on. I’mexactlylike her.”
I press my hand to her heart. “Not in here.”
She doesn’t meet my gaze, her eyes unfocused as though she’s lost within herself, and the corners of her mouth curl up in a sad smile. “So it’s only my body that’s appealing to you. I get it.”
“That’s the opposite of what I said. Iris never cared about anything as fiercely as you do. She certainly never cared about me…” I cup her face and force her to look at me. “How do you feel when you’re with me, Lori?”
Tears roll down her cheeks. “When I’m with you, I feel more alive than I ever did.”
“I feel the same way.” I kiss the salty tears off her smooth brown skin.
My heart feels like it’s about to burst as I slide a hand down to the hollow of her neck. Her breasts strain against her studded corset with each labored breath, and I pinch the black bow holding it in place between my index finger and thumb.
A hiccup quakes her throat—almost a sob. “Please, I can’t do this again.”
“Do what? Endure all this pleasure I’m giving you?”
“Suffer the cold, empty loneliness that follows,” she says, her voice more brittle and vulnerable than I’ve ever heard it.
“Spend the day with me.Please,” I beg, the selfish impulse to keep her by my side eroding my resolve.
She plays with the lapels of my jacket, shaking her head. “One day…is not enough.”
Despite her answer, she buries her hands in my hair and kisses me as though I’m the only oxygen in the room.
There’s no hope for us, but she fits so perfectly in my arms, I could almost be convinced otherwise. I unfasten the knot holding the black ribbon in place and carefully unlace her corset, one crisscross at a time.
