27

Camila

No man should be able to wipe away every drop of sorrow with a kiss, but Asher manages it without effort. It’s only our third kiss, but he kisses me like we’re familiar lovers, finding the perfect way to angle our mouths and pressing his tongue on mine just how I like it.

“Asher,” I whisper.

“Do you want me to stop?” He kisses my shoulder, moving the strap of my dress down my arm until it drapes on my elbow. His mouth explores the new patch of untouched skin. “Say the word, ptichka. I’ll do as you ask.”

His hands glide my other strap down. There’s nothing holding my dress up but my chest as it rises and falls with my every quickening breath. Just tell him you don’t want this. My hands circle his strong neck as the words die in my throat. One word and he’ll end it. One little word and this stops. My nails scrape down his deltoids, feeling every groove.

Asher’s breath scalds my cheek. He’s waiting, the moment hanging in the air like a drop of dew on a leaf.

I’m standing on a clif