Page 57

“You didn’t,” I whisper, breath catching in my throat.

He wiggles his eyebrows, leans in like he’s about to say something filthy—and that’s when I realize exactly how many times I’ve kissed that mouth. That mouth. The one currently crawling with tiny glowing insects.

A noise claws its way out of my throat, halfway between a groan and a gag. I slap a hand over my face.

“I’ve kissed that mouth,” I mutter into my palm, voice strangled.

Ambrose, beside me, snorts under his breath like he’s finally amused by something other than the collapse of kingdoms. Elias chokes on a laugh somewhere to my right.

Silas, the absolute menace, blinks innocently, biting down gently enough to keep the bugs trapped between his teeth. The glow inside his mouth pulses like a warning.

“You have. Many times. You’re welcome,” he says, voice garbled around the light.

I make the mistake of peeking through my fingers and catch the flash of his teeth again, the faint flutter of wings behind them.

I shove up from the half-built floor of the treehouse like I’m fleeing the scene of a crime, wiping my mouth furiously with the back of my hand even though I know it’s too late. I’ll still kiss him again. Because I’m in love with that stupid, chaotic,impossible boy who collects insects like prizes and smiles at me like he’s the end of the world wrapped in a joke. And somehow, that might just be worse than the lightning bugs.

I cut across the overgrown path toward the house, Silas’s stupid glow-mouth seared into the back of my eyelids—and still, somehow, the weight behind me burns hotter.

Ambrose isn’t walking. He’s hunting.

I feel him before I hear him, the scrape of his presence in the marrow of me, measured and sharp like he’s counting every step I take. His stride isn’t rushed; it’s deliberate, patient, but when I glance over my shoulder, his eyes are already locked on mine like he never needed the distance between us at all.

The bond between us thrums low and electric, a pulse that isn’t supposed to belong to him, but does anyway. I used to slam it shut—used to bolt and lock the damn thing every time he even looked at me too long. Now, there's a door. And tonight, he’s standing on the other side, knocking.

The knock isn’t polite.

Let me in, little binder.

The words pulse like silk and sin through the crack I’ve left open. I grit my teeth, pretending I don’t hear him. But he’s relentless. He knows exactly how to slide under my skin without touching me.

You looked good out there.His voice, low and lazy, like he’s tasting me with every word.Soft and wild and so fucking easy to ruin.

I swallow hard, keep moving down the hallway, pretending the heat licking at the back of my neck isn’t him.

You know what I’m thinking about?His voice dips darker, filthier.That mouth you’re so good at arguing with. Wrapped around my cock instead.

My breath shudders out of me, and my fingers tighten against the doorframe when I step into my bedroom. I don’t respond,but I don’t close the door either. That’s the problem with Ambrose. I never lock him out anymore.

You’re wet already, aren’t you?His words curl around me like velvet.You like it when I talk to you like this. Like you’re mine. Like you’d let me use you however I want.

His eyes drag over me like I’m something he plans to ruin tonight.

“You know,” he murmurs from behind, voice silk and blade, “you used to keep me locked out.”

I don’t turn. I can’t.

“And now?” he continues, closing the distance between us until the heat of him ghosts over my back. His breath kisses the shell of my ear. “You’ve left the door wide open.”

A shiver slides down my spine, and I hate how easy it is for him to read me. How easy it is to want him like this.

“It’s cracked,” I say quietly, trying for some measure of indifference. It’s a pathetic attempt.

He leans in until his mouth almost touches the side of my neck. Almost. “No, little binder,” he breathes, voice dipping into something that curls deep in my stomach, “it’s wide. Fucking. Open.”

His fingers graze my hip—light, too light—and then he’s moving, slow, lazy, unapologetic, toward my bedroom like he already knows I’ll follow.

"You want me to shut up and fuck you now?" he asks, voice rough and unapologetic. "Or do you want me to tell you all the other things I’m going to do to you first?"