| Has elegido retar a: | Raulius |
| Has elegido: | Bandas heavies de los a�os 80 |
She reached up and unbuttoned the first button of her dress herself. "D-don't you dare," she said. And she smiled. It was the first real smile he had ever seen from her—crooked, shy, but radiant.
He surged up, cradling her face in his hands, and kissed her. Not on the forehead. On the lips. Gently at first, a question. Then, when she didn't pull away but instead sighed into his mouth, he deepened it. He tasted salt from her tears and something sweeter—her. He felt her hands clutch his tunic, pulling him closer, and the last vestiges of his restraint crumbled.
The word "broken" hit him like a mace to the chest. He rose to his feet in a single, fluid motion, crossing the room before he could stop himself. He knelt before her chair, so close he could count the freckles on her nose.
"Not what I wanted?" His voice cracked. "Maximilian, I have wanted you since the moment I saw you picking wildflowers beneath that oak tree. You were fifteen. I was a nameless squire covered in mud. You dropped your basket, and when you bent to pick it up, you looked at me. Just for a second. And I thought, 'If I ever become a knight, I will marry no one but her.'"
