AMANDA
I reach for him before I can stop myself. Desperate, shaking, clawing for something—anything—that will tell me I haven’t lost my f*****g mind. My fingers slam against his chest, splayed over the hard, unforgiving muscle beneath his clothes. He’s solid. Warm. Real.
And then I break.
A ragged sob rips out of me as I lurch forward, slamming into him, my body folding into his like I need to crawl inside his skin just to believe he exists. My hands fist in his cloak, yanking, pulling, gripping so hard my knuckles ache. My face presses into his chest, my mouth open, gasping, struggling to drag in air, but I can’t—I can’t—I can’t.
His scent is thick, overwhelming, dark with something I can’t name. It drowns me, fills me, coils in my lungs like smoke, like sin, like f*****g salvation an
