“Slow down. It’s up here on the right.”
I do as he says, even though I feel like I’m shedding layers of my long dormant heart every time I hear the flatness of his voice that used to be so warm and low.
The apartment complex he has me pull into is reminiscent of row houses, but these are boxier, plainer—the knock-off version designed only with cost in mind. He directs me to the third cluster of buildings, and I pull straight into an open parking space right in front of the curb. His seatbelt is undone before I even get the car in park. Then his door is open, and he’s unfolding his long legs, and he’s disappearing.
I’ve never allowed regret a foothold in my life. There’s no point, not when you live as long as I do. If you miss out on something in one century, you’ll catch it the next time history decides on a replay. Forever means unlimited opportunities to get things right.
But now I can taste the regret, clogging up my lungs and lining my throat. I’m very nearly choking on it because this, Wilder, is not something that history will ever repeat. It’s now or it’s never.
“Thanks for the ride, Kalli.”
The whole car shudders with the thud of his door closing, and his strides up the sidewalk toward the house on the far right are quick, one step down from a jog.
Before I can think about it long enough to weigh the pros and cons, I turn off the car and bolt after him. I run. I’ve never in my existence ran after anything. There was never that kind of urgency. Generally, if I’m running, I’m running away. Maybe it’s the invisible cord around me buzzing with approval, but it feels right that Wilder should be the one that changes that.
“Wait. Wilder, wait!”
He’s ascending the small flight of stairs to the front porch by the time I catch up to him. He turns, and I slow as I climb those last few steps. Time gets away from me then, making a mockery of all my thoughts of it being my constant. The seconds skip like a scratched record, and my heart jerks just as unpredictably in my chest. I take the one final step to put me beside him on the porch. There’s a lantern suspended to the left of the door, and the glow reflects off his face, catching on his blond curls and turning them a reddish gold.
His expression is wary, but it’s not as dark as it had been in the car. His hand is outstretched, paused in the act of reaching for the door handle, and I’m so terrified that he’ll finish the movement and escape inside before I can put my thoughts into words that I step in front of him, blocking the way.
I take a breath, try to ignore the thunderstorm of emotions in my chest and say, “I’m sorry.” When in doubt, apologize, right? “I know that you’re angry.”
His brows knit together, and that darkness is creeping back into his expression and his stance. I rush on to add, “I don’t know how to say this. I don’t know how to do any of this. But I—” Oh gods. There’s no turning back after I say this. I’m at the ledge, and I either back away or leap over. There’s no in between. My feet say jump. My knees and my hips and my belly and my breasts—they’re all dying to move forward, to close the distance and reclaim that spot in his arms. But my head holds out.
Because this … experiment isn’t just about me. He should have a say in this. But I can’t explain, and even if I could, he wouldn’t understand. If I’m wrong, if I’m unable to keep the two halves of my life separate … he’ll be the one to pay the price.
“I—” The words won’t come. They just won’t. I look at him, lost and sorry and wanting, and then he takes the choice from me.
One large hand presses into my stomach, pushing me back against the outer glass door. The glass is cold even through the layers of clothes, but his hand is warm as it slips from my abdomen to my side. His body crowds mine, and I love the way he towers over me. The thread between us is nearly electric now, and it winds tighter and tighter as he moves closer. He plants a hand next to me on the door, and dips down enough that his forehead rests against mine. This close, our noses touch and our gazes collide, and I can feel his exhale on my lips.
I feel the urge to beg. For what… I don’t even know. For something. For him.
“Yes or no, Kalli. You don’t get it one moment at a time. Not anymore. I can’t fucking take that. You’re in or you’re out.”
I think YES so forcefully that it hurts. But my mouth remains stubborn. “First, you have to know that I’m not like other girls you’ve been with.”
“Don’t I fucking know it.” His fingers fist at the back of my sweater, pulling it tight against my belly and lifting it just enough that the cool winter air nips at my waist.
“I mean it. There are things you don’t know. I wasn’t lying when I said that I’m not good for you. I’m really not. But I think I might be selfish enough not to care.”
The hand at my back slides down until it rests just shy of the curve of my behind, and his other hand takes hold of my jaw. Tipping my head up, he drags a heavy thumb over my bottom lip. It stretches and pulls under his attention, and he touches my teeth, followed by the soft, wet inside of my lip.
“And I’m selfish enough to want you all to myself. This mouth … I want to be really fucking selfish with your mouth, Kalli. I want to kiss and lick and bite it. I want to feel it on my skin. I want to use it and worship it, and I want to do it a lot. Every day. Who knows if anyone is good for anyone else? There might be someone out there better for you than me, but I’m selfish enough to hope you never meet him. All we ever know is who we want, and I think you want me just as badly as I want you.”
I tilt my chin up, my whole body straining forward to meet his. My underwear grows damp and my nipples tight—my body begging for more since my mouth took too long. Against his lips, I whisper, “Yes.”
“Don’t say that unless it’s your answer for the whole thing. We’re talking all or nothing, baby.”
My eyes catch on the Atlas tattoo on his arm. And maybe it’s a sign that I’m doing something worthy of punishment. But I choose to think of it as a suggestion. If he can hold up the heavens, keep the worlds separate and safe, then I can keep the same distance between Kalliope the muse and Kalliope the woman.
“All,” I answer. “I want it all.”
Then his tongue is in my mouth, and he tastes like alcohol and heat and everything I never let myself want. His lean, hard arms wind around my middle, pulling me so far into him that I have to bow my back to keep our mouths connected. His legs are braced wide, and my own press tight between them so that I can feel him hard and heavy beneath the confines of his jeans. The contact sends a shudder through me, leaving me honest to gods weak in the knees.