Page 13 of Labyrinthine
“A kiss,” he says quietly, “for a sponge. Seems fair.”
“You said you wanted to talk.”
“I do. But you need this more. I need this more.”
His voice dips, roughened at the edges, like it’s been dragged over gravel. Not just with want—though that simmers in his gaze—but with something rawer. His eyes search mine, not demanding, but uncertain. Like he’s offering something without knowing if I’ll take it. Like he’s asking for more than a kiss and doesn’t know how to name it.
I hesitate.
“You don’t want to?” he asks. But his tone is different this time—gentler, without demand. He watches me closely.
The game has changed. This is rawer. Harsher. Truer.
“It wasn’t…” I glance away, humiliated. “Our kiss was…confusing.”
He doesn’t push. He waits.
That makes this worse. Harder.
“I’ve never…” My voice dies in the steam. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Or do. And I did…feel something…and it was a lot, for a first kiss.”
His brows lift, barely. Surprise flickers across his features and then something like regret.
“You’ve never?—?”
I shake my head.
“Not even those smug little heirs who linger around the palace like vultures?”
“They saw a throne. Never me.”
A shadow passes through his gaze. A growl coils beneath his breath. But he reins it in.
“I would have done it differently,” he says after a pause. “If I’d known.”
He reaches out, slowly, and I let him touch my cheek. His hand is warm and steady.
“I would have kissed you like this.”
His fingers slide into my hair, cradling the back of my head. He doesn’t pull me in—waits, close enough to breathe me in, hisforehead nearly resting against mine. My heartbeat stutters. He could take. But he doesn’t.
So I lean up and he meets me halfway.
His lips brush against mine, light as air, and I shiver. This time, I catch it. The soft press, the spark, the slow drag of his mouth as he moves in rhythm with mine. It’s not urgent or overwhelming. It’s like a dream I’m only now remembering, and when I open to him, trembling and willing, his tongue finds mine with aching gentleness, coaxing rather than claiming.
He finally draws back, and I can’t breathe.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, stunned. And then I lean in again, bolder now. This time, I kiss him.
I’m left panting. Wanting more. Needing more.
“Did I overwhelm you earlier?” Mallen asks.
I don’t answer. I let the water swallow half my face instead, my gaze pinned to his, unblinking. He watches too closely. Too carefully. There’s a hunger in his emerald eyes—not just desire, but the more dangerous kind. Possession masked as patience.
He smiles, slow and deliberate. “You’re not used to being seen, are you?”
