**
“Everyone wants me
to be their version of what I should be. Even you.”
“Then what do you want? Who do you want to be?”
“I don’t know! Don’t you see? If I wanted something more
than this life, maybe I would go after it, maybe I would be brave, by your definition of the word,
but I don’t. I never have. So what’s so terrible about what I’m doing? What am
I giving up, Santiago Flores? What is supposed to stop me from doing what I’ve
always known I would when the time came? What is it you think I’m supposed to
want?”
“Me.”
He gripped the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her
hair as he pulled her toward him, his other hand cupping her jaw, tipping her
face up to meet him as his lips closed over hers, firm and fierce and demanding
and—oh my God, so exquisitely
perfect.
She’d been kissed before. Of course she’d been kissed
before. In twenty-three years as the pride’s resident flirt, she’d kissed
dozens of guys in a sort of playful almost-platonic way that was all the other
shifters would dare. She’d even gone a bit further with a few humans who didn’t
know Roman to be afraid of him—until her instincts had reared up and put a stop
to it.
She knew perfectly well what lips were for, thank you very
much. But all those kisses. All those affectionate busses and eager lip locks. They
had never been this.
**
Who's ready for some shifters?!
1 comment:
Me! Me! I'm ready for some shifters! Bring 'em on!
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