Grasping her hair, he turned her head to his, and all thought fled her mind as he kissed her.
My first kiss.
The innocent moments she had stolen with Leopold as children did not count. She thought perhaps those had been kisses.
Now she knew she was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Faust kissed her with such virulent passion that it stole her breath from her lungs. He worked his lips over hers bruisingly, as if he meant to consume her. She melted into the strength of his embrace, her hands resting on his chest, grasping lightly at the velvet edges of his robe, and surrendered to him.
Everything in her body felt alight, as if something strange and new had awoken in her, some foreign beast baying in her soul, demanding to be fed. When he finally broke away, he was panting for air, and she felt as if she might faint in his arms once more.
“Marry me, Marguerite.” His voice was a low, dusky growl, and it reverberated through her. “Let me love you.”
The single word left her in a whisper. It was all the breath she had left to spare.
“Yes.”