I take a breath, try to ignore the thunderstorm of emotions in my chest and say, “I’m sorry.” When in doubt, apologize, right? “I know that you’re angry.”
His brows knit together, and that darkness is creeping back into his expression and his stance. I rush on to add, “I don’t know how to say this. I don’t know how to do any of this. But I—” Oh gods. There’s no turning back after I say this. I’m at the ledge, and I either back away or leap over. There’s no in between. My feet say jump. My knees and my hips and my belly and my breasts—they’re all dying to move forward, to close the distance and reclaim that spot in his arms. But my head holds out.
Because this … experiment isn’t just about me. He should have a say in this. But I can’t explain, and even if I could, he wouldn’t understand. If I’m wrong, if I’m unable to keep the two halves of my life separate … he’ll be the one to pay the price.
“I—” The words won’t come. They just won’t. I look at him, lost and sorry and wanting, and then he takes the choice from me.
One large hand presses into my stomach, pushing me back against the outer glass door. The glass is cold even through the layers of clothes, but his hand is warm as it slips from my abdomen to my side. His body crowds mine, and I love the way he towers over me. The thread between us is nearly electric now, and it winds tighter and tighter as he moves closer. He plants a hand next to me on the door, and dips down enough that his forehead rests against mine. This close, our noses touch and our gazes collide, and I can feel his exhale on my lips.
I feel the urge to beg. For what… I don’t even know. For something. For him.
“Yes or no, Kalli. You don’t get it one moment at a time. Not anymore. I can’t fucking take that. You’re in or you’re out.”
I think YES so forcefully that it hurts. But my mouth remains stubborn. “First, you have to know that I’m not like other girls you’ve been with.”
“Don’t I fucking know it.” His fingers fist at the back of my sweater, pulling it tight against my belly and lifting it just enough that the cool winter air nips at my waist.
“I mean it. There are things you don’t know. I wasn’t lying when I said that I’m not good for you. I’m really not. But I think I might be selfish enough not to care.”
The hand at my back slides down until it rests just shy of the curve of my behind, and his other hand takes hold of my jaw. Tipping my head up, he drags a heavy thumb over my bottom lip. It stretches and pulls under his attention, and he touches my teeth, followed by the soft, wet inside of my lip.
“And I’m selfish enough to want you all to myself. This mouth … I want to be really fucking selfish with your mouth, Kalli. I want to kiss and lick and bite it. I want to feel it on my skin. I want to use it and worship it, and I want to do it a lot. Every day. Who knows if anyone is good for anyone else? There might be someone out there better for you than me, but I’m selfish enough to hope you never meet him. All we ever know is who we want, and I think you want me just as badly as I want you.”
I tilt my chin up, my whole body straining forward to meet his. My underwear grows damp and my nipples tight—my body begging for more since my mouth took too long. Against his lips, I whisper, “Yes.”
“Don’t say that unless it’s your answer for the whole thing. We’re talking all or nothing, baby.”
My eyes catch on the Atlas tattoo on his arm. And maybe it’s a sign that I’m doing something worthy of punishment. But I choose to think of it as a suggestion. If he can hold up the heavens, keep the worlds separate and safe, then I can keep the same distance between Kalliope the muse and Kalliope the woman.
“All,” I answer. “I want it all.”
Then his tongue is in my mouth, and he tastes like alcohol and heat and everything I never let myself want. His lean, hard arms wind around my middle, pulling me so far into him that I have to bow my back to keep our mouths connected. His legs are braced wide, and my own press tight between them so that I can feel him hard and heavy beneath the confines of his jeans. The contact sends a shudder through me, leaving me honest to gods weak in the knees.
I slide my hand over the nape of his neck, and up into his hair, and he groans into my mouth. I soak up the sound, overwhelmed with a frantic energy that can only be joy. Supreme, complete, life-altering joy. Every part of me is humming with it—my body as it remembers the shape of his, my mind as he eclipses every other thought, and the indefinable connection as it jumps and pulses between us like it carries a heartbeat of its own.
Fate. Destiny. Whatever it’s called … I’ve never been so grateful for mine. And as I allow myself to admit that Wilder is part of that destiny, I feel a tear coast over my cheek.
“God,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Kissing you is even better than I remember.”
I laugh, positively giddy at his words. “Could be the alcohol.”
“No, it’s you. There’s something about you. About us together …” he groans. “I don’t have the words, and I hate that. I hate that I can’t tell you exactly how beautiful you are or how good you feel because everything feels pale in comparison to the reality. If there are words that do it justice, I don’t know them. But I swear I’ll learn them, invent them if I have to.”
I breathe in, and he pulls me closer. “Maybe we don’t need the words. Maybe it’s enough that we both know.”