Cyra

Yorick kisses me the way I’ve always wanted to be kissed, like he’s a drowning man and I’m the air that he needs to breathe to survive. Even his gentle kiss is dominant, demanding that I give in to him. And how can I not? He’s perfect. He’s so incredibly perfect for me.

“You know this is a terrible idea, right?” I ask when he pulls back, leaning his forehead against mine again.

“Not nearly as terrible as you rejecting me and leaving me. I’ll think of something, Cyra. The ...