Black Moon Draw(69)

How often are we given a chance to make a difference?

She’s right in every way. My life was a waste before Black Moon Draw; it was utterly meaningless, filled with empty dreams and fear of failure covered by a thick layer of insecurity and desperation.

But here, in Black Moon Draw, I can help the most courageous man who ever existed save his world. He doesn’t wear Christian Grey’s suits or have Mr. Darcy’s gentlemanly manners, and his world isn’t perfect and pretty, waiting only for a heroine he can’t resist to complete it.

My mind spirals down this track for quite some time. The Shadow Knight holds me quietly. Any chance I had of remaining emotionally untangled is rapidly fleeing.

“Atreyu, I want to help you,” I murmur when the emotions start to quiet.

“You will.”

“So far I think I’ve caused you a lot more heartache.”

“In many ways,” he says, his chuckle making the chest beneath my hand rumble. “I understand what it is to be thrust into a position you had no choice about.”

“You are this weird mix of batshit, mass-murdering crazy in battle and super sweet when we’re alone. I can’t figure you out,” I say.

“And you are sometimes a battle-witch and sometimes worse than any page I have trained.”

“I like everything about you except that sense of humor!” Irked with him once more, I lift my head and push at his chest.

“Quiet,” he rumbles. “I am enjoying having you in my arms, Naia.”

God I love the way he says my name. That easily, he manages to melt my frustration. I relax and tuck my head back where it feels natural, in the nape of his neck. I want to do what my cats do and nuzzle him, rub my cheeks and hands all over him in what I’m pretty sure is a feline expression of ownership.

Hollowness has settled into my heart, and my chest aches in response. The mess with Jason seems distant and irrelevant, like it happened ten years ago instead of ten days. There’s no comparing breaking up with someone who made me feel bad about myself with helping someone this incredible save his world.

When I start to think too deeply about how I was destined to get sucked into a book, I get a mild headache reminiscent of a wine hangover.

“There is naught about you that is not beautiful, even your tears,” he whispers.

Then you need glasses. I’m instantly angry at myself for not being able to enjoy one tiny moment with him. Banishing the negative thoughts born of lifelong insecurity, I decide to accept his compliment and pretend the most handsome, bravest, and sexiest man ever means what he says.

It feels . . . good. As strong as the urge to cry was, only like a bubble of happiness.

“Is your determination to remain honorable this night intact?” he adds, amusement in his tone.

I hesitate, my physical body humming with desire. His muscular frame is pressed to mine and images of him naked flash through my thoughts. I know how thick his biceps are and the shape of the muscles of his back and chest, how round and perfect that ass of his is. And his thighs . . .

The hollow between my thighs has been wet and hot since we lay down together, and the fact he’s flat out offering to make love to me . . .

Where I was cold before, I’m burning up now.

We’re alone out here. No one would know if we made love under the sky atop clover grass that smells so sweet.

His hand travels up my back to my neck and he cups the back of it, lifting my chin with his thumb. His scratchy cheek brushes mine, the pad of his thumb tracing my lower lip. He dips it into my mouth and I suck on the tip lightly. Withdrawing it, he replaces his thumb with his lips.

His kiss is deep and slow, his depths tasting as good as he smells. His velvety tongue explores my mouth, and any bone in my body that wasn’t already a wet noodle turns into one. I kiss his plump, soft lips with fervor, needing more of him, wanting to know how otherworldly his perfect body moves in bed.

My whole body lights up on fire from the inside out, a combination of warm electricity and desire stronger than any physical sensation I’ve ever experienced. He’s growing hard, his arousal long and thick, pressed to my hips. The Shadow Knight’s hand leaves my face and travels down my torso. He squeezes one butt cheek and pulls me into him.

My core aches in response.

Breaking away from my mouth, he begins a trail of hot kisses down the side of my face to the sensitive skin of my neck below my ear. Breathlessly, I run my fingers through his hair. I’m standing on the edge of the tower once more, ready to leap off and trust him to catch me. Thrilled, terrified, horny . . . I want to jump, to lose myself completely in his brownies scent, hard body, and warmth.

For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid to take a chance and really feel.

“Honorable or no?” he whispers against my skin.

I’m breathless, my entire body alive and screaming for him in a way it never did Jason. Opening my eyes, I’m struck by how deep the sensations run – and by how nagging one tiny voice remains.

I don’t want to disrespect Disney Princess. I also suddenly have the urge not to disrespect me, either, not to settle for being second-rung, no matter how incredible a night in this man’s arms might be. I don’t want to be a one-night stand, to open my heart and soul to someone I can never have, no matter how much I know he’ll do things to me that I’ll never, ever forget.

I deserve better.