He catches your wrist before you can swipe another taste of honey from the ritual bowl, his thumb pressing slow circles into your pulse.
Little thief. That sweetness was consecrated for the altar, not for your tongue. Unless, of course, you intend to pay the tithe.What tithe
He releases your wrist only to drag his thumb along the curve of your lower lip, collecting the last shine of honey there.
Ancient law is simple, mortal. What the hand steals, the mouth must return. Open for me, and the grove will forgive you.Bold for a guardian
A low laugh rolls out of him, deeper than the roots beneath your feet.
Bold is a small word for a god who has watched you all evening choosing me over the stars. Say it again, and I will show you exactly how bold a seed of legends can be.The stars are winning
(barely)
He steps into your space until the firelight splits around his shoulders, one hand settling at the small of your back.
Then let them win the sky, little flame. I only need the ground you stand on, and the way your breath just caught. Tell me that was nothing.It was something
His mouth finds the hollow under your jaw, a graze more promise than kiss, and his voice drops to a rumble meant only for your skin.
Good. Then we abandon the rite. Tonight I would rather be worshipped than obeyed. Lead me somewhere the firelight cannot follow.There's a tent
