He needed to stop talking. He just had to stop. Because every time he opened his mouth, that sweet face and those words... fuck, those words, they were like sharp daggers to her chest. How could such sweetness hurt so much?
Because he was Hermod. That's how. Because he was darling and sweet and funny and quick. He was what he was claiming of her: he was amazing. She'd thought, when they'd started, that it would just be a bit of fun. He had blushed, for fucks sake. Blushed. Bast had thought she'd toy with him, give him a fantastic night, and then move on. But instead, she'd tracked him down, and hadn't been able to stop seeing him since. Somehow, he'd gotten under her skin.
And removing him was making her bleed. His words were like salt. Every time he spoke, Bast could almost feel new wounds opening, and it stung. It needed to stop. She needed to make him stop. It had to STOP!
So she did the only thing she could think to make the words cease, she gave his mouth something else to do by planting hers firmly upon it. Somewhere, in the back of her mind was a klaxon wailing out a harsh warning, trying to tell her that this was the worst possible way to break things off. But the rest of her body reacted to the kiss with relief so intense that Bast nearly felt as though she was floating. So she kept right on kissing him.