Page 62 of The Gathering

Her heart somersaulted as his other hand touched her waist. Mouth opening and closing in front of him, battling with the decision to let herself have him or respect her sister’s wishes. His forehead pressed to hers, and her chest fell with the jaggedness of her breath.

She was going to explode from the tension of having him so close to her.

"How could I have possibly resisted any moment alone with you?"

His words sent her spinning. Before she gave herself a moment to reconsider, she grasped his tunic in her hands, and she pressed her lips to his.

It was the most awfully beautiful idea she'd ever had.

A very bad—oh, but very good— idea.

She could feel the surprise in his features, but after a second, he groaned, and his arms locked around her. His tongue slipped in her mouth, and she found herself in another realm. Arms wrapping around his neck, she pulled him closer. Heat pulsed from her chest down between her legs. Every sweep of his tongue sent her spiraling deeper. She was sure her heart would burst at the nerves threading through her.

Water over her head. Lungs tight. Muscles feigning.

She was drowning in his embrace.

And she didn't want to come up for air.

His arms bent behind her back and pulled her flush. So flush, he nearly pulled her off the ground. His hands threaded in her hair and in the tulle on the bottom of her dress. She'd never felt so wanted by anyone before. He consumed her—tasting of salt and wine and everything she ever wanted.

After a few moments, he pulled back, and his hand pressed to her cheek. Both were breathless and struggling to steady. She stared up at the darkness in his pupils.

“I am so dead,” he whispered.

Nyssa's lips quirked a fraction at his words, and her eyes darted from his dilated eyes to his lips, and then, without thinking, he kissed her again.

He pulled her closer, sudden desperation flooding from his core to hers, his muscles tightening around her body. She felt her breaths skip as he grasped her backside through the heavy tulle, and she couldn’t stop herself from moaning into him.

Still kissing him, she took a step back, hanging on to his hands. They separated, and she moved back towards the doors.

She wasn't sure what to say, but she wanted him to follow her to her room, shred her clothes, take her against the wall, and more.

“Come with me?” she decided on.

His jaw tightened, an audible sigh emitting from his lips. He unhooked their fingers and pushed his hands over his face, exhaling when he steepled his fingers. His eyes traveled over her as he battled with himself. She heard him groan softly, the restriction in his throat an obvious desperate ploy.

"I need a minute, Princess," he finally breathed.

She swallowed the fissure in her heart and wrapped her arms over her chest. “Take the servants' tunnels at the end of the hall. Up the stairs two flights. Third door on the right.”

She turned and left him standing alone on the terrace as her feet led her back through the doors and up the tunnel to her room.

“What are you doing?” Bala asked as she found Nadir on the balcony. “Why—Fuck all, Naddi. What happened?”

Nadir was gripping the banister so tightly that his knuckles were pale. “She kissed me,” he said.

The corners of Bala’s lips lifted as she muttered, “Thank the Architects,” and sank against the banister beside him. “What are you doing out here? Where is she?”

“She invited me to her room,” he said as he mirrored her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Bala said.

“She’s still a little drunk, Bal,” he argued.

“So take her some food,” she said. “She likes bread and sweets. Just snag a tray when you walk through the ballroom again and head through the servants' tunnels.”

He sighed heavily. “You make it sound easy,” he muttered.