Page 72 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
“I crashed right into her,” I say. “She just wanted to see us, but we were running, shouting, knocking over everything in our path. I wasn’t watching where I was going. I slammed into her side, and she…” My voice cracks. “She fell.”
I expect her to recoil. To scream at me, or slap me, or call her magic to end my miserable life.
She does none of those things.
Instead, she scoots closer. Her thigh touches mine. I can feel the heat of her body, even through the layers of fabric.
“The king blamed us all. But it was me.” I force myself to look at her, to meet her eyes. “I’m the reason you lost your mother. I’m the reason you feel like a monster, Raisa.”
She reaches out. Her hand is small, but strong. She brushes strands of hair off my forehead, her fingers trembling only a little.
“I don’t blame you,” she says.
I jerk back, like she burned me. “Why not?”
She smiles, the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “Because you were just a child, Sable. You were an innocent little boy who tripped wrong. You didn’t push her. You didn’t set out to hurt her. You loved her. That’s why it still hurts so much.”
I stare at her, searching for the lie, the trick, the hook in the words. There’s nothing there but the truth.
I start to shake. I try to hide it, but she sees.
She leans in, her face inches from mine. “You don’t have to hate yourself forever,” she whispers. “You can let it go.”
I want to argue. I want to list all the reasons I should hate myself, all the reasons she should hate me. But her lips are so close, her breath is warm in the cold, and the ache in my chest gets worse every second.
She kisses me.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s not careful, or hesitant, or sweet. It’s a collision, a desperate meeting of mouths and teeth and tongue. She grabs the back of my neck, pulling me in, and I let her, because I can’t do anything else.
I grab her around the waist, dragging her onto my lap. She’s so beautiful, the curves of her body soft and real beneath my fingers. I kiss her harder, pouring every apology, every regret, every terrible secret into her mouth.
She bites my lip, drawing blood, but I like the sting.
My hands are everywhere—her ribs, her back, the inside of her thigh. But she’s not a shy little virgin princess any longer. She moans into my mouth, grinding against me, her fingers fisted in my hair.
We tear at each other’s clothes, buttons flying, seams splitting. Her shirt goes first, and then mine, and then we’re skin on skin, the heat of us steaming in the cold.
I slide my hand down, finding her wet and ready, her slickness making me groan.
She breaks the kiss, gasping. “Here?”
“Here,” I say, my voice raw.
She laughs, a wild, broken sound, and pushes me back onto the log. She straddles my lap, her knees gripping my hips, her hands braced on my shoulders.
I line myself up and push inside her, savoring the stretch, the perfect fit. She throws her head back, and the sound she makes is pure fucking music.
I thrust up, hard, and she yelps, grabbing my face in both hands. She kisses me again, frantic and sloppy, teeth clacking, tongues fighting.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her so tight I think I might break her. But she’s not breakable. She’s fire and lightning and storm, riding me like she owns the world.
We fuck with everything we have, every ounce of pain and forgiveness and need poured into the motion. The world narrows to the slick slide of her cunt, the heat of her breath, the taste of blood and tears.
She comes first, clenching around me, her nails biting deep into my shoulders. I follow, my hips jerking, seed spilling into her as I bury my face in her neck and sob.
We collapse together, shivering and panting, release washing the guilt and shame away.
She curls into my chest, her hands tracing circles over my heart.
