Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“Then why—” She cuts herself off, shakes her head sharply, then seems to force herself to continue. “Why not do it?”
There’s no good reason to keep holding her, so I set her on her feet, even though I can’t quite manage to release her. I skate my hands over her hips and then cup her elbows. She smells of sex, a growing need, and something floral that I can’t quite place.
In that moment, when I finally meet her gaze, I don’t see unrestricted desire there. If I had, I don’t know that I would’ve remembered myself enough to avoid kissing her. But that’s not what I see. There’s desire, yes, and need so strong that I can’t help leaning toward her.
And, underneath it all, a shame so thick that I want to spit and clear its taste from my mouth.
“Because.” It takes conscious effort to release her, to step back, to allow the air to rush into the new space between us. “I want you, Belladonna. Desperately, in fact. You’re beautiful and you’re kind and you’re strong. Not to mention your desire is strong enough to drown cities.”
Her cheeks deepen into a crimson color against her tan skin. “Then why not take me?”
Gods, if she understood the effect her words have on me.
I clear my throat. It does nothing to negate the knot forming there because the knot isn’t real. It’s all emotion, messy and illogical. “Because, little one.” My voice is raspy, but I can’t help it. “Because, when I take you, I want you fully in possession of your faculties—not lust drunk on my power. I want your need for me to overpower the shame your people have cursed you with.”
“Cursed.” She frowns. “It does feel like a curse, doesn’t it?”
“You would know better than I.” For all my experience with humans’ dreaming selves, I’m still an observer. I can see the desires, see the things blocking those desires, but I’m not the one experiencing them. I’m not a mind reader. I can’t reach into Belladonna’s soul and pull her shame out at its poisonous root.
She rubs her chest as if she can feel my violent desire. “It was so easy in there. I knew what I wanted, and I went for it. I didn’t doubt.”
“I know.”
She ducks her head, letting her hair fall forward and hiding her expression from me. “I want you, Rusalka. I want you so desperately, it feels like a spell, even though I know it’s not. But I can’t . . .” Belladonna makes a frustrated sound. “I hate this. I hate that I know what I want and can’t make myself reach out. I hate that I’m not even sure I believe in hell but I’m still scared of going there for wanting things that aren’t a nice churchgoing husband and a life spent giving him obedience and children. I hate that I can hear their voices in my head.”
Even as I tell myself to give her space, I can’t resist stepping forward and gently drawing her into my arms. She doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around me and hug me tight, her body shaking with the force of the conflict inside her. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
“I never fit,” she whispers. “It started before I was born. My first memory is my mother telling me that the whole congregation knows I’m a sinful little beast and will do nothing but bring sorrow down on everyone I encounter.”
“How old were you?”
“I don’t remember exactly. Four or five.”
Once again, murderous desire rises in me. I close my eyes and try to breathe through it, to keep my flames from betraying my rage. “You were a child. An innocent.”
“No such thing according to our church.” Her voice has gone a little watery. “Born with sin and all that. I made it to high school before I realized there was nothing I could do to earn their love. No matter how hard I tried, I would always be flawed in their eyes.”
I swallow down the poisonous words I want to spit about her parents. “You mentioned a sister.”
“I did.” She sighs, slumping against me. “I love her so much. Ruth is a genuinely good person, but once I walked away from the church officially, it seemed like she had to try to love me back. It wasn’t effortless or easy, and even when she said she loved me, there was an asterisk attached to it.” Belladonna hiccups. “Hate the sin, love the sinner. But the so-called sin is me.”
I stroke a hand down her long hair and hold her until her tremors ease. Only then do I guide her through the process of getting ready for sleep and tuck her into the massive four-poster bed. She looks young like this, innocent and scared. “I’m sorry, little one.”