Page 40 of Cruel Juliet

“Petyr…”

Then his mouth is on mine.

I should pull away. God, I know I should. Everything between us is already ruined, twisted up in threats and betrayals and the mess we’ve made of each other. Another step down this path can only lead to more pain.

I tell myself all that, but I don’t stop kissing him, and truth be told, I never really consider stopping.

Because it’s been so long. Too long.

The first brush of his lips is enough to unravel me. Heat sparks low in my stomach. It spreads fast and steals any scrap of reason.

I clutch at him without thinking. My hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him back.

“Wait,” I manage between breaths. “We can’t?—”

His hand slides to the back of my neck. He silences me with another fierce kiss.

I don’t fight it. I sink into it.

I taste him. Familiar. Overwhelming. Every nerve in me screams that I need this, that I’ve needed it since the night I left.

My body remembers what my mind wants to forget. His mouth, his scent, the solid weight of him pressing me close. It floods me, raw and all-consuming.

Still, guilt claws its way in underneath the rush.

This is wrong. He locked me in this room. He swore he’d take my child if I defied him. He’s the reason I feel trapped. And still I can’t stop kissing him back. I keep craving the only touch I’ve ever felt safe enough to drown in.

The contradiction is awful, but it’s nowhere near enough to make me let go.

His teeth catch my lip, my nails scrape at his chest.

I want him. I hate that I want him. And I can’t stop.

Then suddenly, he pulls back.

The space between us snaps wide open. My lips part, my body still leaning forward, hungry for what’s already gone.

“Petyr…” I breathe for the second time, not even sure what I mean to say.

He doesn’t answer. He just turns, strides to the door, and leaves me sitting there, burning with want and shame all at once.

When he’s gone, I press trembling fingers to my mouth. My chest heaves, my heart slams, and every thought tangles into a knot of anger, longing, and despair.

I hate myself for wanting more.

17

PETYR

Morning hits hard.

Like yesterday, I sit in my office at the mansion with a full inbox and a stack of reports. Like yesterday, none of it sticks. I read a line, then read it again, and the words slide off.

Sima’s mouth keeps getting in the way. The heat of it. The temptation. I told myself I wouldn’t do that again.

But I did. Last night, if I hadn’t stormed out, I wouldn’t have stopped at kissing. I would have ruined myself.

And ruined her.