Second Debt
Page 29

Yes. I also want to understand why I feel this way. Why, when faced with the graves of my ancestors, do I so quickly forget and seek what I cannot find?
His fingers tightened against my cheek, holding me steadfast. His head tilted, bringing his lips within a feather-frond distance from mine.
My mouth tingled, sparking for contact. The anticipation raised my blood until I needed a cold shower instead of hot.
“Pity for you, I plan on keeping my secrets.” His minty breath washed over me, grabbing me by the soul and tearing me into smithereens.
“Why? What’s so terrible that you have to hide who you truly are?”
He swallowed, closing the final distance between us and pressing me against the wall. “Quiet.”
I gasped as his lips suddenly sealed over mine.
The moment we touched, everything ignited.
The rage I’d nursed waned. My loathing and bitterness abandoned me. Even the images of epitaphs and graves couldn’t stop me from betraying my family.
I wanted to drop my walls and bare everything. I wanted to forget about the past month, and pretend he was a simple boy with a simple offer. I wanted to believe he would save me and not ultimately kill me.
He groaned as I threw myself into the kiss, moulding my body along his.
I was already in hell. I couldn’t fall any further. Might as well give up, give in, and just admit defeat.
Every dark facet of who I was, every spark and knowledge that made me human, wanted to be seen and understood. I wanted him to see me as his—not because I was a pawn in a game I didn’t understand—but because I was a woman who he couldn’t live without.
His delicious form pinned me harder against the tiles. His tongue broke the seal of my lips, diving in as if he had perfect right to be there.
And he does.
Over everyone, my body had chosen him.
Just your body?
I couldn’t admit my soul might’ve chosen him, too.
Despite everything, I couldn’t win against the truth.
As our tongues danced, my mind skittered from the present to a memory I never knew was there.
“Nila, this is Jethro.”
I blinked through my bangs at the tall skinny boy who looked so dapper in a three-piece suit. I found his attire perfect for the beautiful teagarden I sat in with my nanny. She’d told me to dress up in my favourite ensemble—a white four-tiered dress with pink bows and ribbons—and she would take me for my seventh birthday to lunch.
The only stipulation was no one must know. Not even my twin.
My nanny nudged me. “Say hello, Nila.”
I looked again at the boy before me. He had black hair, which was combed to the side. Everything about him spoke of stuck-up and resentful but beneath that lurked the same thing I felt.
Obligation.
A small butterfly entered my tummy to think he might feel the same stifling knowledge that we were already destined for a role—regardless if we wanted it or not.
“Do you have a strict daddy, too?” I asked.
“Nila!” My nanny spanked my behind. “Be polite and don’t pry.”
Jethro narrowed his eyes at my caregiver. He balled his hands and his cheeks turned red from watching her discipline me. I thought he’d run off, his feet shuffled to the teagarden’s exit, but then he locked eyes with me. “I have a dad who expects me to be something I’m not.”
My childish heart fluttered. “Me, too. I like clothes, but I don’t want to be a weaver. I want to be the first girl to prove unicorns exist.”
He smirked. “They don’t exist.”
“Yes, they do.”
He shook his head, something cold and hard snapped over his features. “I don’t have time for stupid kids.” Spinning on his heel, he left me gawking after him. I didn’t stop looking until a man with greying hair and black jacket stole his son’s hand and disappeared into the sunshine.
We’d met.
How many times had we been introduced? Jethro had said I’d signed something in pink crayon. And now I remembered my seventh birthday luncheon.
Did I feel what I did because he’d been there in my past—like a stain upon my fate? Or was it because some part of me knew the kid I saw that day still existed?
Jethro pulled back, his gaze searching mine. “What? What are you thinking?” His lips were wet from kissing me.
A surge of need took hold of me; I pressed my mouth against his.
He tensed then opened, inviting my tongue to slink into his dark flavour.
I moaned as his hand moved from my cheek to the back of my skull, holding me firm. The moment he’d imprisoned me, his kiss turned into a meal. I was the main course and he did exactly like he’d said in his text as Kite. He kissed me so deeply I had no choice but to inhale his every taste, ensuring he lived forever in my lungs. He made drunken love to my tongue, driving me higher, higher with every silky wet sweep.
My blood raced with need, sending throbbing desire to my clit.
If he continued to kiss me that way, I might come from that alone.
“Truth does more damage than lies,” he murmured between kisses.
I’d lost the ability to reply. My body craved his, and all I wanted to do was tear off his sodden clothes and sink onto his cock. I wanted to forget about hostility and death. “Then stop lying,” I breathed.
He pulled away, stealing his heat and passion. “I’ve lied all my life. There is no other way I know.” Tucking wet hair behind my ear, he added with finality, “However, you’re a novice. You better become talented in the art of deception if you wish to survive my family.”