Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,106

I lean in close to Famine, my knees brushing against his inner thighs. The alcohol is making me brave.

“Then maybe it will wash away the memory of this sin.”

With that, I kiss him.

Chapter 35

His lips are soft like satin. I don’t remember that from the last time I kissed him.

And like the last time I kissed him, Famine doesn’t immediately react. I think he must be shocked. The only reason the kiss continues at all is because I’ve nearly drunk my weight in booze, and my self-confidence is at an all-time high.

But then the Reaper’s lips do begin to move, and suddenly he’s returning the kiss with a passion that I’m struggling to match. He reaches out, catching me by the waist. With a deft yank he pulls me onto his lap.

I rearrange myself so that I end up straddling him. The horseman holds me tight against his body, his hands moving to my hips. All the while his lips devour mine.

I’m shocked to feel that beneath me, he’s hard. I’d seen his heated looks and I’d read the interest in his body language, but this is actual proof that Famine feels desire—and for me of all people.

My hands slide to his cheeks, cradling his face. It’s frightening how in this moment I can just sideline every evil deed he’s done. All because at the very root of him, there’s something that calls to me. Maybe it’s that kernel of kindness I’ve glimpsed. Maybe it’s his awfulness or his vulnerability. Maybe it’s nothing at all, and I’ve simply deluded myself that we’re alike.

Famine’s palms skim up my sides, his fingers pressing into the flesh of my back. All while his mouth works mine. He parts my lips, and I have a moment of surprise that he actually knows how to kiss—and how to kiss well.

How many women has the horseman been with?

Famine pulls away, his breathing ragged.

Why? His eyes seem to ask. Why did you kiss me?

My pulse speeds up.

Why indeed?

Because I like making poor choices, and you look like the worst one yet.

Despite my very real, very powerful desire to do much, much more with the horseman, I begin to get off of Famine. I’m trying my hand at self-restraint.

He catches my hips. “Leaving so soon?”

Now that he has me in his grip, it’s impossible to leave.

“I was indulging in my own curiosity.”

And if I give into this, then lines will be crossed tonight that I really, truly shouldn’t cross.

“Kissing you again was …” Bewitching. Intriguing. Addicting, “a mistake,” I say, trying to convince myself of that very fact.

I can still taste Famine on my tongue, and my lips are raw from the kiss, and all of it is addling my mind.

“It was a mistake,” he agrees. “Let’s make another and another. We can regret them all tomorrow.”

My eyebrows lift.

Is he serious?

I study his wicked, beautiful face. It’s one thing for me to give in to a handsome man in a moment of weakness. It’s another for this deity to test drive his human impulses on me. And while I want him, I’m not sure I want whatever fallout might come from this.

And there will be fallout.

But shit, I am curious. Fatalistically so.

“Everything will go back to the way it was tomorrow?” I say.

Famine gives me a look like he knows he’s already won. “It must.”

I take in his face, and after only a moment’s hesitation, I lean in, and the Reaper’s mouth is back on mine as though it never left.

And I give myself over to the sensation of it.

Now that I’m not holding back and he’s not holding back, it’s like a spark striking kindling, catching and burning and growing. And the two of us are being consumed by it all. I’m moving against him, my body wanting more—used to having more. What I’m unused to is not being in control of my desire.

As if to make a point, I break off the kiss.

Famine all but groans. “You’re thinking entirely too much, little flower.”

I give him a playful shove, even as I take in his bright, heavily lidded eyes and swollen lips.

I smile a little at that. “Have I told you that I’m starting to find your abrasiveness endearing?”

Famine frowns, but his eyes soften. I take his hand, deliberately threading my fingers between his. I pause as I stare at our entwined hands. Only a day ago the hand I’m holding was gone. Now I marvel at the sight of his fingers, strong and whole. They’re even