Rhys looked up, his face gleaming with tears. He went still as I leaned in, kissing
away one tear. Then the other. As he had once kissed away mine.
When my lips were wet and salty with them, I pulled back far enough to see his
eyes. “You’re mine,” I breathed.
His body shuddered with what might have been a sob, but his lips found my own.
It was gentle—soft. The kiss he might have given me if we’d been granted time
and peace to meet across our two separate worlds. To court each other. I slid my
arms around his shoulders, opening my mouth to him, and his tongue slipped in,
caressing my own. Mate—my mate.
He hardened against me, and I groaned into his mouth.
The sound snapped whatever leash he’d had on himself, and Rhysand scooped
me up in a smooth movement before laying me flat on the table
—amongst and on top of all the paints.
He deepened the kiss, and I wrapped my legs around his back, hooking him
closer. He tore his lips from my mouth to my neck, where he dragged his teeth
and tongue down my skin as his hands slid under my sweater and went up, up, to
cup my breasts. I arched into the touch, and lifted my arms as he peeled away my
sweater in one easy motion.
Rhys pulled back to survey me, my body naked from the waist up. Paint soaked
into my hair, my arms. But all I could think of was his mouth as it lowered to my
breast and sucked, his tongue flicking against my nipple.
I plunged my fingers into his hair, and he braced a hand beside my head—smack
atop a palette of paint. He let out a low laugh, and I watched, breathless, as he
took that hand and traced a circle around my breast, then lower, until he painted a
downward arrow beneath my belly button.
“Lest you forget where this is going to end,” he said.
I snarled at him, a silent order, and he laughed again, his mouth finding my other
breast. He ground his hips against me, teasing—teasing me so horribly that I had
to touch him, had to just feel more of him. There was paint all over my hands, my
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