Page 64 of Star Bringer
“Don’t cry, Princess,” Ian murmurs. “I don’t do crying women.”
What a surprise. “Do they scare the big, bad Ian?”
I expect him to laugh, not answer with an earnest, “Fuck yes.”
It makes me smile, but that hurts my lip, and I wince again.
“I hate that he hurt you,” Ian says, then frowns. “And I don’t understand why it matters so much. In my world, everyone gets hurt.”
He leans in closer then, and I go entirely still. There’s a look in his eyes, half calculating, half fascinated. And all of a sudden I have this bizarre idea that he’s going to kiss me.
My breath wedges in my throat as I tell myself that I’m mistaken. That I’m absolutely, positively misjudging his intent. After all, I’ve never been kissed before. How would I know what a guy looks like before he does it?
But then Ian’s rough palm is sliding around the back of my neck, and I decide that, never kissed or not, at this point his intent is pretty hard to mix up. Even before he tilts my head up so I’m gazing into his dark eyes and I can see the intent plainly written there.
But there’s a reason I’ve never been kissed. People do not just kiss a princess of Senestris.
Unless you’re Ian, in which case you do anything you want. And as unbelievable as it might seem, it appears that what Ian wants is to kiss me.
This close, I breathe in the scent of him, hot and rich and like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life. For just a second, his gaze goes vacant, almost like he’s thinking about something a million kilometers away from here. Then he’s back as he lowers his head until his lips touch mine, and all rational thought vanishes.
I close my eyes and lean into him, hoping that he’ll kiss me again. Harder and more thoroughly this time.
Except he’s already pulling away.
I blink, fighting the urge to drag him back to me. But there’s a little frown line between his eyes that says he wouldn’t come even if I tried.
“You act like you’ve never been kissed, Princess.”
Seriously? That’s what he’s hung up on? “Obviously,” I tell him. “You do remember the no-touching rule, right? Well, believe me, it makes kissing pretty fucking impossible.”
For a second, a hint of understanding glimmers in his eyes. “Sure. I get it,” he says.
I shake my head. “Absolutely no way you could.”
“Story for another day, Princess.” For once, the title doesn’t sound like an insult when he says it. Maybe because he’s so close that I can feel his heart beating against my own, even before he lowers his head. And then his lips are right there, about to meet mine, and he whispers, “Open your mouth.”
Trust Ian to be giving orders even now. But where it normally irritates me to no end, at the moment it just gets me…hot. Maybe that’s why I do what he asks, parting my lips on a soft, tiny gasp.
When his hands wrap around my biceps, his touch is different. Harder.
And then he presses his open mouth to mine, and heat washes through me like a waterfall.
I drown in it for a beat—drown in him—but a few seconds later, his tongue pushes inside my mouth and I start to panic. Because a part of him is inside me now, and I don’t know what to think about that, how to feel about it. His tongue istouchingmine.
But then his hands slide into my hair, and he angles my head so he can deepen the kiss, and the waterfall becomes an avalanche of sensation. Of need, sizzling over my skin and burning along my every nerve ending.
And then I’m kissing him back, thrusting my tongue into his mouth so I can taste him. Feel him. Explore him.
And still it’s not enough. I want more of him, more of the heat pulsing through my body. I’m out of control and acting purely on instinct as I press myself even more tightly against him. I didn’t know kissing would be like this, and now I can’t believe I waited so long to try it.
When every part of my body is trembling and I’m running out of oxygen, he finally lifts his head. “Fuck, Princess. If you take to fighting like you took to kissing, we’d better all watch out.”
I’m not quite lucid enough to unravel what he means, but I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere. Maybe.
I want to kiss him some more, but he’s pulling away and getting to his feet. He stares down at me. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
