His breath was hot. The kiss was slow. Don’t stop, don’t stop. I couldn’t think of anything but those words: don’t stop. His hands ran up my sides, my back, and clasped me. He lifted me onto a crate. I placed my hand against his neck. I felt the thick beat of him. His rhythm. My rhythm.

My skin burned. I couldn’t stop. I’d never felt anything like this in my life—this rising in my chest, this need to touch. His lips nudged mine apart. My eyes opened. Stop. Stop, Paige. I started to pull my head away. A word escaped me: maybe “no,’’ maybe “yes”. Maybe his name. He framed my face in his hands, traced my lips. His thumbs ran over my cheeks. Our foreheads touched. My dreamscape scorched. He set fire to the poppies. Don’t stop, don’t stop.

Only a moment passed. I looked at him, and he looked at me. A moment. A choice. My choice. His choice. Then he kissed me again, roughly this time. I let him. His arms came around me, lifting me. And I wanted it. I did. Too much. So much. My hands were in his hair, gripping his neck. Don’t stop. His lips were on my mouth, my eyes, my shoulders, and the hollow of my throat. Don’t stop. He ran his palms over my thighs. Firm, bold strokes, full of surety. Awakening.

I opened his shirt. My fingers slid over his chest. I kissed his surging neck, and he grasped a thick handful of my hair. Don’t stop. I’d never touched his skin. It was hot and smooth, and it made me want the rest of him. My hands went under his shirt, found his back. Scars under my fingers. Long, cruel welts. I’d always known they were there. The scars of a traitor. He tensed under my touch. “Paige,” he said softly, but I didn’t stop. He made a low sound in his throat, and his lips came back to mine.

I wouldn’t betray him. Bone Season XVIII was history, and it would not repeat itself.

Two hundred years was more than enough.

My sixth sense shook me from the haze. I pulled back from Warden. He kept his hands on my waist, locking me against him.

Nashira was there, half-hidden in the shadows. My heart squeezed out a sickening thump.

Run, my numb brain said, but I couldn’t run. She’d seen everything. She could see everything now. My skin, glossed with sweat; my puffy lips, my wild disheveled hair. His hands still clasping my hips. His open shirt. My fingers still trespassing on his skin.

I couldn’t move them. I couldn’t even shift my gaze.

Warden drew me behind him. “I forced it on her,” he said, his voice thick and rough.

Nashira said nothing.