I glare. “You know what.”
He leans in,
close enough to let the heat spill off him.
“You want it?” his voice drops,
dangerous and filthy.
The strip glistens in his hand, dripping sweet.
The words sink inside me as heat climbs up my neck.
He’s watching, waiting.
He wets his bottom lip,
then tips his head with a smirk,
all smug, arrogant, begging to be slapped.
I grab his wrist before he sees it coming,
bringing his hand to my mouth,
tilting my head, parting my lips,
taking it from his fingers, tongue first.
His breath stumbles,
eyes locking on my mouth,
watching the way my lips close around it.
How my tongue brushes his fingers when I pull back.
Sweet, rich, warm, the flavor fucking melts.
I sit back,
licking a stray drop off my lip,
holding his gaze.
The kitchen stirs warm.
Then hot.
Andrew blinks,
breathes,
chest rising to say?—
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Allison.”
I lick my thumb with a slow grin. “What?”
