sorcery of myth

I looked up, and all I saw was Jamie. A shock of dark hair falling into startlingly blue eyes framed by long, long lashes. He was so close, I could feel each puff of breath as he exhaled, a warm caress in the cold air. I tilted my head up to his, our noses nearly touching. I could hear his heart beat—or maybe it was mine—a gentle thud, thud in the otherwise silent night. Soft as a feather, he brushed his lips against mine, cold and cool, a whisper of a kiss.

I draw him deeper into my arms, knowing this is it—the last time I will lose myself and find myself at the same time— in this boy who shows me the stars, even when there is only darkness. His eyes open, and I can’t look away. We kiss this way, once, twice. He tips his head, and our foreheads press together. His eyes are a storm of emotion—passion, anguish. Love.

It’s my first breath of air in six weeks. We kiss desperately, struggling through the gap over the center console and tumbling into the backseat, my wound screaming in protest as it scrapes across the rough upholstery. Sebastian’s shirt pops a stitch as we fight it over his head, and then I lose myself in the thrill of being with him again. The night is a hunter, stalking us with realities we still have to face—Sebastian’s parents, his friends, my friends—but we forget them all, clinging to each other and finding the rhythms I’d once thought were gone for good. Reality can wait.

Her fingers followed the arch of his throat, running slowly upward, over his jaw, across his cheekbones. 

He dropped the lute and stepped in close. So close, Asha could almost taste the salt on his skin. 

He dug his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back. And then, with his eyes burning into hers, he kissed her. Gently at first. Then harder. Like he was hungry and Asha was the only one who could satisfy his craving. 

Asha grabbed the collar of his shirt and kissed him back, hungrier and clumsier than he was. Torwin grabbed her waist, pulling her to him.

She didn't let him finish. She couldn't. In one smooth, sudden swoop, she lifted her face to his and kissed him. His lips, impossibly soft, brushed blissfully against hers. Then his hands were on her waist, her fingers were in his hair, and they were exploring one another, tenderly and urgently. 

They didn't part until Chiara was dizzy. 

"What did you want to tell me?" she whispered. 

Domenico took a deep breath. "The thing is," he said, "I love you."