SNEAKPEAK:
To Pluck a Primrose
She stiffens at first, startled, heart hammering wildly-then her fingers curl into his coat, not pushing him away, not pulling him closer either. Just holding on.
His forehead rests against hers when he finally pulls back, their breaths mingling, uneven.
"Don't tear us apart with ghosts," he says hoarsely. "Not when I'm standing right here."
And in the dark of the woods, with the moon hidden above them, the kiss lingers like a command she doesn't know how to disobey.
His mouth barely leaves hers as he speaks-words pressed into kisses, breathed against her lips as if saying them aloud isn't enough, as if he needs her to feel them.
"You are..."
A kiss, slow now, deliberate.
"...the quiet in my head when everything else screams."
His thumb brushes beneath her lip, reverent and possessive all at once.
"You are the only thing that never looks at me with fear or judgment. Only you look at me like I am still a man... not a ruin."
Another kiss-deeper, lingering-his forehead resting against hers.
"You are mine," he murmurs, voice low, almost breaking, "not because I took you, not because the world forced you to me-but because you stayed. Because you chose to see me when I was nothing but broken pieces."
His lips trail to her cheek, to the corner of her mouth, never crossing the line-yet burning all the same.
"You are my wound and my cure," he whispers.
"My punishment... and my mercy."
His breath trembles now.
"When I touch you, the past shuts up. When you say my name, I remember who I am. You are not a servant's daughter. You are not a bargain. You are the only truth I have left."
He presses one final, searing kiss to her lips-slow, claiming, desperate.
"My little rose," he breathes, obsession wrapped in devotion,
"everything I am belongs to you-whether you believe it or not."
