Page 100 of Salt Kiss
A few minutes later,and we’re in the chapel one floor up. It serves our needs perfectly—only a door and a quiet set of stairs away, much closer than our suites, and the crew is accustomed to giving it complete privacy since it’s where Isolde comes to pray.
The chapel is small, lit by artificial candles on the small table in front and more fake candles in a recessed nook, and by the moonlight coming in through the window. Two short pews with attached kneelers fill the space.
I turn and look at Isolde, who is staring up at me with dark eyes, her mouth swollen. Here in the enclosed space, I can hear the rustle of her dress as she moves.
I suddenly—perversely—wish Mark were here. To see her like this. To see me like this.
I tremble just thinking about it.
Isolde steps close, rustling, rustling, and presses her hand to my heart. My cock is an obscene thing between us, brushing against the skirt of her gown as she looks up at me.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You,” I whisper.
Her eyes miss nothing. “And Mark?” she guesses.
I can’t lie. I give a reluctant nod.
“You really love him,” she says quietly.
I don’t answer, but I don’t need to. I think of what she said before she kissed me.
I don’t love you.
But here we are anyway, wet and swollen and already gone too far. I’m here because I can’t seem to stop myself from falling for cold, deadly people, but I don’t know why she’s here. Am I a way to punish Mark? To prove something to herself?
Or am I simply scratching an itch before she gets married and has a duty to be faithful?
The curse doesn’t care. It’s used to being lonely, to aching for what it can never have. And if I’m alone in falling for her, then she’s made me feel not alone in so much else. Grief. Nightmares. Being snared by the dark gravity of Mark’s world.
We’re together. Whatever else we are, we’re together.
I seize her waist and pull her in for a hard, quick kiss. “How do you want it?” I rasp.
“I want it how you want it,” she breathes.
I search her face. Her eyes reflect every candle in the room, and her pulse rushes in her throat. “Are you sure?”
A small smile, like I’m being very precious right now. “Make it rough, Tristan. Like you mean it.”
I hesitate. “It’s your first time.”
“It’s not my first time havingsex, just my first time having sex like this. And my first time was with Mark, and you better believe he fucked me like he meant it. I can still feel the imprint of his fingers inside me.”
She says it with a flash of her eyes and a toss of her head, and static dances in front of my eyes.
“You’re goading me,” I manage to say.
“Maybe. Is it working?”
I could laugh if jealousy wasn’t stuck in my chest like a sword. I push her backward to a pew, biting her lips, her jaw. I spin her around, bend her over the back, and shove her dress up to her hips.
She is still finding her balance as I yank her panties—black, soft, label-less—to her ankles and then shove them in my pocket to use privately later. I kneel a moment so I can take in my new favorite thing, the gold curls and pink petals. She’s flushed and wet from my fingers, and I can see all of her like this.
I take her ass in both hands and spread her apart, and then press my tongue inside, burying my nose in her as I do.
Ah God, she tastes so fucking good. My tongue slips through her with no resistance, and then I lick a hot stripe up to her back entrance, which is just as tight and pretty as I imagined.
