Page 18 of Wicked Salvation
“Silas is the…safe choice. For my parents. For my future. I’m so used to silencing myself and my needs for everyone else that I figured…if I followed this path that they set out for me, it wouldn’t hurt so much when I got to the end of it.”
There’s a bitter smile on my lips.
“But then, Vivienne died. My whole world got flipped upside down. It’s forced me to think about so many things—including the fact that I’ve been dead for a long time, too.” I look down at his belt. The buckle is a shiny chrome skull. “I don’t want to feel so empty anymore.”
When I meet Lucian’s gaze this time, I let him see everything.
The longing.
The confusion.
My fears.
My hope.
“I don’t know what this is,” I admit. “I just know that when I’m with you, I feel like I can breathe, and that doesn’t happen with anyone else.”
That’s the sentence that does him in.
Suddenly he moves, pulling me in so close I’m hovering above him. He cradles my face again, this time, his fingers press lightly against my jaw.
Gentle, hesitant touches.
But I can’t figure out if he’s afraid that I’ll disappear—or that he will.
“I want to believe you, Edie,” he says softly.
“Then do.”
His thumb brushes over my lower lip.
Slow.
Steady.
Reverent.
My heart is slamming against my ribs, heat spooling in my abdomen, fire skittering across my skin. Arousal coils itself around everything in my chest—my heart, my lungs, scorching my ribcage. I’m out of breath.
Out of everything except my need for him.
Finally—Lucian kisses me again.
It’s nothing like the first one.
It’s not soft.
I feel him coming apart beneath me.
In a single deft movement, he pushes me back against the couch, pinning me with his huge body. One hand keeps my body pressed against his, the other sliding into my hair, tilting my head back, giving him more access.
Each swipe of his warm tongue against my lips has me wishing he would kiss me elsewhere—my jaw, my neck, between my breasts—anywhere and everywhere.
I writhe against him, silently begging him. My fingers tangle in the fabric of his t-shirt, anchoring myself. Lucian gives out a low rough sound against my lips when I wrap a leg around his waist, grinding myself against the hard heat in his pants. It sends a shiver down my spine.
“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs.
A whispered breath. “A dangerous saint?”
