EMBERS (Marcus Acacius)

XXVIII | Worthy of he Risk

Her lips tasted like everything I'd craved and everything I shouldn't have.

I didn't know who moved first—her or me—but the moment her lips met mine, the world around us seemed to disappear. My hand cupped her face, my thumb brushing the curve of her cheek as though she might vanish if I let go. Her hands clutched the front of my cloak, pulling me closer, and I let her, willingly melting into her touch.

It wasn't like the first time though. That kiss had been quick—stolen, almost shy. But this? This was deeper, fuller—everything I'd been holding back for years poured into one desperate moment.

I didn't care about the rebellion anymore. I didn't even care about Lucilla. I didn't care about Rome or its gods or the punishment that would be waiting for us if we were caught in this compromising position. All I cared about was her—Adriana—here in my arms, soft and trembling against me.

Her breath hitched as I pulled her closer, my other hand sliding down to graze the fabric at her waist. I could feel the hesitation in her—the faint quake of her body—but she didn't stop me. She kissed me back, her lips parting under mine, and it felt like a dam had broken inside me.

"Adriana," I whispered against her mouth, my voice hoarse and barely audible. I kissed her again, harder this time, my hand tightening at her waist. She seemed to melt into me, and for a fleeting moment, I thought she'd finally stopped fighting it—stopped fighting us.

But I wanted more. I couldn't help myself. My fingers found the tie of her robe, brushing against the knot at her waist. I paused for the briefest of moments, waiting, listening for some sign that I should stop. When she didn't pull away, I tugged lightly at the tie, the fabric loosening beneath my fingers.

And then she stiffened.

"Wait," she breathed, her voice breathy as her hands pushed hard against my chest. Her lips left mine, and suddenly the cold night air rushed between us, replacing the warmth of her breath.

I froze, my chest rising and falling erratically as I searched her face. Her eyes were wide, filled with something I couldn't quite place—fear, rregret? I hated the distance in them, the way they darted past me like she was suddenly aware of the world around us.

"What is it?" My voice was quiet, but the question carried every doubt swirling in my mind.

She didn't answer right away. Her hands tugged her robe tightly closed, and she took a step back, her gaze flicking to the lake, the horses, the empty field—anywhere but at me. "We can't," she whispered finally, shaking her head. Her voice trembled, and the sound twisted like a knife in my chest. "Not here."

"There's no one here," I replied, reaching for her hand. She didn't pull away, but she didn't look me in the eye either. "No one will see us, Adriana. There's no one for miles..."

"It's not about being seen," she said softly, the sadness in her voice almost heartbreaking. "It's about what this is—what we're doing."

"What we're doing..." I echoed, my hand unwittingly tightening around hers. "Is what we should have done years ago."

She shook her head, pulling her hand free as she took a step back. The space between us felt unbearable. "You don't understand. If anyone finds out, Acacius... If Lucilla—"

"This isn't about Lucilla," I interrupted, my voice much sharper than I had intended. I softened my tone, stepping closer again as a wave of guilt suddenly washed over me. I hadn't meant to snap at her. "She doesn't love me, Adriana," I whispered, making sure to keep my voice calm. "Not the way I—"

I stopped myself, the words hanging unspoken in the air between us. Her eyes darted to the ground, her breathing shallow.

"You're worth the risk," I said instead, my voice firm with sincerity. "No matter what it costs me. You're worth it."