and, along with his, sets it on the ledge. For the third time in one night, Farren offers me his hand. “Would you like to dance, Essalin?”
“I would,” I reply.
My heart is racing. I can’t stop smiling. Smiling, smiling, I feel such happiness right now. They say people in dire circumstances grow close quickly. Maybe that is what’s been happening between me and Farren. I feel a powerful connection with him. And I can’t say it’s entirely surprising. Our love for Haven provided us with an immediate reason to bond. And then spending time together, retracing her steps, trying to save her, has only strengthened that connection. Farren and I have a shared goal—we both want Haven back.
But there’s no denying there’s something more intense developing between us.
The careful way in which Farren holds me as we begin to dance to a slow song—like I’m fragile and he’s the only one equipped to care for me—strengthens my suspicion that he’s falling for me too, in some way.
I relax into him, trusting him. Our bodies sway to melodic lyrics that speak of the beauty of having someone to lean on when times get tough. How fitting. As the song continues, I feel Farren’s gaze on me. Glancing up, I find his emerald eyes burning with strong desire and need, assuring me that I am not the only one feeling this heady attraction.
The side of Farren’s mouth curves up slightly when he sees his emotions reflected in my eyes. Quietly, he implores, “Essa, what are you doing to me?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
I lower my chin and lean forward to place my cheek against his solid shoulder. Farren’s fingers wind through my hair, loosening the strands. Pins fall to the ground haphazardly, but I don’t care. When my hair tumbles to my shoulders, I lean back, my gaze questioning.
Farren just smiles and shrugs lightly. “I like it better this way,” he says.
I nod once, and our eyes remain locked as Farren continues to comb through my hair with his fingers. He uses one hand at first, then both. His ministrations are gentle. I like it. I like the possessiveness in his touch. I like the familiarity. And I like that Farren seems to intuitively know how to touch me.
It makes me want him more than ever.
I lower my gaze to his lips, full and moist from the wine. With a confidence I never felt before, I stand on my tiptoes and lean closer to him. I tilt my head slightly in what I hope is viewed as an invitation.
Farren responds immediately. His grasp in my hair tightens and he urges my head back. Lowering his lips to my neck, his tongue darts out to taste my skin. “Delicious,” he says.
I shudder in the best kind of way and murmur, “Farren.”
With his hands remaining in my hair and my head still tilted back, he kisses me everywhere…down my neck, across my shoulder blade, back up to my jaw. “Oh,” I gasp.
His lips are everywhere but where I want them most—on mine.
I slide my hands up his solid and wide back. I caress the softness at the nape of his neck. And then my hands are in his hair. So silky and soft, just how I imagined it would be. When I pull at the ends of his hair gingerly, Farren groans huskily.
His lips capture mine, at last, and he kisses me hard . This is heaven, a dance of lips and tongues. Farren tastes like red wine and man, and I become drunk of him.
He presses his body into mine when I moan, and I am made fully aware that his kisses aren’t the only thing that’s hard. As his arousal continues to deliciously press into my abdomen, I kiss him like crazy.
Soon, we’re practically bruising one another as our hands and mouths express all of this pent-up want and need.
I let out a light moan, and, between kisses, Farren says, “Tell me what you want. Say it to me.”
“I want,” I breathe out a stuttered breath. “I want…”
I don’t know what I want, not exactly. My body wants Farren, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, but my inexperienced self urges me to
“I would,” I reply.
My heart is racing. I can’t stop smiling. Smiling, smiling, I feel such happiness right now. They say people in dire circumstances grow close quickly. Maybe that is what’s been happening between me and Farren. I feel a powerful connection with him. And I can’t say it’s entirely surprising. Our love for Haven provided us with an immediate reason to bond. And then spending time together, retracing her steps, trying to save her, has only strengthened that connection. Farren and I have a shared goal—we both want Haven back.
But there’s no denying there’s something more intense developing between us.
The careful way in which Farren holds me as we begin to dance to a slow song—like I’m fragile and he’s the only one equipped to care for me—strengthens my suspicion that he’s falling for me too, in some way.
I relax into him, trusting him. Our bodies sway to melodic lyrics that speak of the beauty of having someone to lean on when times get tough. How fitting. As the song continues, I feel Farren’s gaze on me. Glancing up, I find his emerald eyes burning with strong desire and need, assuring me that I am not the only one feeling this heady attraction.
The side of Farren’s mouth curves up slightly when he sees his emotions reflected in my eyes. Quietly, he implores, “Essa, what are you doing to me?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
I lower my chin and lean forward to place my cheek against his solid shoulder. Farren’s fingers wind through my hair, loosening the strands. Pins fall to the ground haphazardly, but I don’t care. When my hair tumbles to my shoulders, I lean back, my gaze questioning.
Farren just smiles and shrugs lightly. “I like it better this way,” he says.
I nod once, and our eyes remain locked as Farren continues to comb through my hair with his fingers. He uses one hand at first, then both. His ministrations are gentle. I like it. I like the possessiveness in his touch. I like the familiarity. And I like that Farren seems to intuitively know how to touch me.
It makes me want him more than ever.
I lower my gaze to his lips, full and moist from the wine. With a confidence I never felt before, I stand on my tiptoes and lean closer to him. I tilt my head slightly in what I hope is viewed as an invitation.
Farren responds immediately. His grasp in my hair tightens and he urges my head back. Lowering his lips to my neck, his tongue darts out to taste my skin. “Delicious,” he says.
I shudder in the best kind of way and murmur, “Farren.”
With his hands remaining in my hair and my head still tilted back, he kisses me everywhere…down my neck, across my shoulder blade, back up to my jaw. “Oh,” I gasp.
His lips are everywhere but where I want them most—on mine.
I slide my hands up his solid and wide back. I caress the softness at the nape of his neck. And then my hands are in his hair. So silky and soft, just how I imagined it would be. When I pull at the ends of his hair gingerly, Farren groans huskily.
His lips capture mine, at last, and he kisses me hard . This is heaven, a dance of lips and tongues. Farren tastes like red wine and man, and I become drunk of him.
He presses his body into mine when I moan, and I am made fully aware that his kisses aren’t the only thing that’s hard. As his arousal continues to deliciously press into my abdomen, I kiss him like crazy.
Soon, we’re practically bruising one another as our hands and mouths express all of this pent-up want and need.
I let out a light moan, and, between kisses, Farren says, “Tell me what you want. Say it to me.”
“I want,” I breathe out a stuttered breath. “I want…”
I don’t know what I want, not exactly. My body wants Farren, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, but my inexperienced self urges me to
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