Princess

Chapter 23: The Stars Align

Damon

No sooner than her words filled the small gap of air between us, my lips crashed on hers, the sweet flavor of her mouth lurking behind pizza sauce and grease. I pried her lips open with my tongue, taking out the pent-up frustration of thirty two fucking years on her mouth. She was surprisingly compliant, momentarily letting the walls around her fall. For me.

I restrained the urge to shove the table aside and pull her onto my lap and took my time, exploring each crevice. She reciprocated heartily, making small happy noises which I engulfed with my mouth. I deepened the kiss and her hands pulled my collar closer, tugging me firmly towards her. Her kiss drugged me, pulled me in so deep that I knew I could never ever let go of this feeling every again.

I certainly never thought I would kiss Ariadne Ryder–the girl so hysterically off-limits for me–in a decrepit diner in the middle of nowhere.

I spent my whole life wondering how this woman tasted. She tasted like the best thing I ever fucking had.

Hushed whispers and camera flashes brought us back into reality and she pulled away abruptly, resting her forehead on mine. When she raised her eyes to meet mine through long, thick lashes, there was a glimmer of sadness.

Her favorite place wasn't so secret anymore. She couldn't be the nobody she wanted to be so badly. Random people had taken plenty of pictures that would no doubt be plastered across the front pages of the newspapers and tabloids first thing in the morning.

For the life of me, I couldn't seem to care. My disregard for the consequences alarmed me; I was always someone who cherished being unknown. But she cared and that made it important to me.

My blood boiled with rage. If I could take out every single person in this diner and have it just be the two of us, kissing or not, I would do it in a heartbeat. Governing my anger, I quickly got up and offered her my hand. She took it quietly and we left the rickety diner without a second look back.

Walking swiftly on the busy street (at 2 AM), I pulled her alongside me, only letting go of her hand when she slid it up my arm, curling around my bicep and holding me close. She didn't ask questions, the sound of her heels clacking against the pavement the only noise between us.

When we were far enough away from Mario's and in the middle of a sidewalk near Flora, dimly lit by the flickering lights of a closed theater, I stopped and turned around, looking at her for the first time since we rushed out.

Those soft brown eyes were enormous, taking in my face, trying to figure out my emotions. They were an exhilarating concoction–filled with so much affection and remorse at the same time.

She stepped closer and rested her forehead on my chest. I dropped my chin against the crown of her head. Slowly letting my arms wrap around her, I held her in place. She didn't cry, speak or move apart from her slender arms snaking around my back. She pulled me in tighter and I obliged, letting my hands run through her hair and rest at the nape of her neck.

My skin burned at every point of contact between us, unable to comprehend her even letting me touch her the way she was. An uncomfortable edge set under my skin when I realized that if I died like this, I'd be more than happy to go. I didn't want anything–didn't need anything other than her in my arms, the smell of roses in the air, and those fucking eyes.

I was definitely having a heart attack from the fucking pizza.

We walked back to Flora in silence, but her arm never unraveled from mine, except for when she dug in her purse to give a homeless mother on the sidewalk a $100 bill. Fishing her keys out of my pocket, I opened the passenger side door and she slid in, no argument.