Page 119 of A House of Gold
He looks wrecked.
"That was..." he starts.
"A mistake," I finish, pulling my shirt back on with shaking hands. "Obviously."
"No." His voice is rough. "Not a mistake. But definitely a complication."
"That's one word for it."
He finds his ruined shirt, looks at it, tosses it aside. Crosses to a closet and pulls out a new one. Buttons it methodically, like he's trying to regain some semblance of control.
"I don't share," he says finally. "I need you to understand that. I can't, I won't, share you."
"You don't have a choice. In ten months, or so, I’ll be gone."
"I know." His hands clench on the shirt buttons. "I know you're leaving. I know other angels will have you. I know the binding doesn't make you mine in any way that matters." Heturns to face me. "But while you're here? While you're in my house? There is no one else. No demon-blooded ex-lovers. No phone calls to men who've had you. Just me. Just this."
"That's not fair, how many of your lovers live within these walls?"
"I don't care about fair.” He snaps. “I care about surviving the next few months without losing my mind." He crosses to me, cups my face. "I'm falling for you. You're falling for me. We're both going to get hurt when this ends. But at least let me have you, completely, while I can."
Through the binding, I feel his desperation. His need. And underneath it, the fear. He's terrified of losing me. Terrified of wanting me this much.
I'm terrified too.
"Okay," I whisper. "While I'm here. No one else."
"Promise me."
"I promise. But, " I meet his eyes. "You don't own me, Croesus. This doesn't make me your possession."
"I know."
"I'm not another thing for your collection."
"I know that too." His thumb strokes my cheekbone. "You're the one thing I want that I'll never truly have. And it's killing me."
"Then we're even. Because this is killing me too."
He kisses me then, soft this time, gentle, almost tender. So different from the desperate claiming of a few minutes ago.
"Stay with me tonight," he says against my mouth. "Don't go back to your room. Stay here."
I should say no. Should put distance between us, let us both cool down and think about what we've done.
But I'm tired of fighting. Tired of pretending I don't want exactly what he's offering.
"Okay," I say. "I'll stay."
Relief floods through him, I feel it through the binding like a wave.
He leads me out of the study, down the corridor to his private chambers. Not a dragon's hoard or a throne room or anything ostentatious. Just a bedroom, large but simple. A massive bed with silk sheets. A fireplace that burns with golden flames. Windows that show impossible views: desert sunsets, ocean waves, mountain peaks. All of them fake. All of them beautiful.
We don't talk. Don't discuss what happened or what it means. We just lie down together, still half-dressed, exhausted and wrung out.
He pulls me against his chest, arms wrapping around me like he's afraid I'll disappear.
"I hate this," he murmurs into my hair.
