Page 237 of The Devil's Thorn

“Good,” he murmured. “Just like that.”

I didn’t speak. I didn’t have to.

His thumb traced along the line of my jaw, down to the base of my throat where my pulse beat hard against his touch.

“Tell me your sins,” he said.

I blinked. “Is that what this is?”

“No.” His thumb dragged lightly across my collarbone. “This is something older.”

“Older than God?”

“Older than forgiveness.”

His hand moved higher, brushing the underside of my chin, lifting it slightly. His other hand still held the sash, fingers curling around the silk.

“I want to know what you carry,” he said. “What you keep hidden when the lights go out.”

I swallowed. My lips parted. But nothing came out.

“Start with the truth,” he whispered. “About me.”

I looked at him, breathing harder now, chest rising and falling with each breath I couldn’t catch.

“You were never a mistake,” I said quietly. “But I wish you were.”

His gaze flickered. Not with hurt. With heat.

“Because I ruin you?” he asked.

“Because you make me want to be ruined.”

That earned a sound from him—low, barely audible. His thumb brushed across my bottom lip, slow and deliberate.

“And what else?” he asked.

“I’ve thought about you,” I said. “Too much. Too long.”

“How?”

“In ways I shouldn’t.”

His hand didn’t move. His body didn’t close the space. But everything between us burned.

“And you came here,” he said, voice low, “to confess that to me?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Then why?”

I met his gaze. “Because you’re the only one who wouldn’t ask me to be anything less.”

His fingers tightened slightly on my jaw. “You’re mine, Isabella,” he said. “In every way that matters.”

And I felt it—not a vow. A truth. One I’d known long before I’d ever said it out loud.

I didn’t look away. Even as his thumb traced along the edge of my jaw, down the line of my throat, brushing just above the steady beat pulsing beneath my skin.