The Rogue Read Free

known a man had a flavor . Or textures , soft and firm and rough and smooth all at once. She had never known the caress of another person’s breaths on her cheek.
    She had been missing a lot .
    Climbing up his arms that were wonderfully muscled, her fingers clenched around his shoulders. So unfamiliar the smooth wool coat against her hands, so alien his fingertips stroking the edge of her hair, so strange and delicious and intoxicating and she wanted more.
    She pressed her lips harder to his, but it did not suffice. She still wanted more, much more . Something was missing . . . Something would be better if . . .
    She opened her mouth.
    And felt it all . And understood why the men and loose women at the party embraced each other as they did—why there was nothing better than this—why she would never, ever get enough.
    She made sounds, noises from her throat, without meaning to; they erupted on her breaths that he was taking with his kisses. He didn’t seem to mind. Both of his hands wrapped around her face and he drew her up to him and she went onto her toes and their mouths were fused, giving and taking and melding and melting and hotter each moment. She was hot all over, in her throat and thighs and everywhere . The power of his arms beneath her palms made her wild inside. She could eat him, taste him and seek him like this, deeper with each breath, more desperate to have, to possess. All of him. She felt the tip of his tongue touch the edge of her lips and she moaned aloud.
    â€œTell me to stop,” he said harshly. “Push me away.”
    â€œI cannot.” Her lips sought his again, demanding his kisses. “You must take yourself away. For I find that I cannot make you go.”
    He did not take himself away. He held her in his hands and the universe became him—his mouth, his heat, his tongue caressing her lips, her teeth, her tongue . She whimpered, gripped his shoulders, and let him inside her.
    And then they were apart, he was putting her away, and she was standing alone in the blackness with damp lips and frantic breaths and empty hands.
    â€œI’ve got to go,” he said firmly.
    â€œI know,” she cried. “I know . Will you . . . ?”
    â€œWill I . . . ?” He sounded oddly choked.
    â€œWill you be sorry?”
    â€œFor kissing you?”
    â€œFor leaving me?” she said a little desperately.
    â€œYes. So, perhaps you should leave instead.”
    â€œIf you suggest that because you believe I won’t be as sorry to leave as you, you are mistaken, sir.”
    She heard him shift, and the sound of his taut breathing.
    â€œWe are already having our first disagreement,” he said. “That’s a poor sign, you know. Clearly we are doomed right from the start. Probably best to end it straight off.”
    She laughed. “All right. Though I thought we might allow it another ten seconds.”
    â€œIt?”
    â€œThis.”
    â€œThis? Standing in blindness? Not touching? I won’t survive another ten seconds.” He sounded certain.
    â€œHow do you know that?”
    â€œI have the wisdom of age and experience to guide me.”
    Oh. Oh.
    â€œExperience,” she mumbled, the joy slipping away. “With women, I suppose.” Of course. She was immeasurably silly.
    â€œI say to you now,” he said in a new voice, “with complete honesty and in all sincerity, with no hope of anything at this moment beyond being heard: in this thorough darkness yourface is more clearly etched upon my memory than that of every other woman I have met.”
    He was immeasurably silly too, it seemed. And perfect .
    â€œHalf of my face.” She smiled.
    â€œGranted.” His voice smiled back at her. “And your eyes.”
    She chewed on her lip. It tasted raw. “It cannot be true that you see my face and no others now.”
    â€œI tell you it is God’s truth.”
    A tiny ray of hope lit her insides.