"For love is not found in reason nor rhyme, not in books or ballads, nor in words too grand to mean anything at all.
It is found here— in a girl who never wished to be stolen, yet burrows herself into the warmth of his chest, whimpering at the mere thought of letting him go.
And in a boy who swore he could never be tamed, who never meant to keep her, who grumbles at her antics, only to hold her tighter beneath the weight of midnight.
And yet, here they are. Entwined. Lost. Found. Bound in warmth, in longing, in love—
Forevermore."
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Sitting still has never been Renna Rose Lancaster's strong suit, but right now, she’s perched on my lap, perfectly still, like a living doll. My left hand is steady against the curve of her neck, holding her in place, while my right hand carefully brushes the mascara wand along her lashes.
Her deep, brown pools are a damn abyss. Dark as the night, with these rich, molten depths that pull me in, swallow me whole. They're wide and fixed on me—bloody hell, she’s staring straight into my soul.
The soft light in her room casts a warm glow, highlighting every delicate feature. Her skin… it’s fucking flawless. It’s like soft, satin marble—cool to the touch, but warm under my fingers, like it’s almost begging me to trace every inch of it.
And her lips… God help me, her lips. They’re glossy, full, and entirely too distracting for me to focus on the task at hand.
"Stop blinking," I murmur, trying to keep my tone firm, though my concentration is already fraying. Her lashes flutter just slightly, and she suppresses a giggle.
"I'm not blinking," she whispers, her voice sweet and teasing, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
I swear to God, if she doesn’t stop teasing me like this, I might just lose every shred of self-control I’ve ever had.
I pause for a moment, holding the wand in midair. My eyes flicker down to those lips again, coated in what must be that cherry-flavored lip balm she loves. I’d tasted it before. Addictive. My hand falters slightly, and I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.
Focus, Aadam. You’re supposed to be helping her get ready, not thinking about how badly you want to ruin all her effort.
But when she tilts her head just slightly, her gaze softens, and her lips part ever so slightly, it’s over for me. Screw the mascara.
“Rose,” I said in a low, strained voice. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” she whispered, her voice soft and innocent. Her eyes still hadn’t blinked, making my focus slip.
