She knelt on the floor and grinned as she leaned forward.
It worked for Snow White and Sleeping Beauty.
“Ceci,” Roxanne cried. “What are you doing?!”
Her breath met his before the flesh of their lips touched.
She trembled, surprised by their softness and warmth. She had expected them to be cold and rigid.
Cinnamon. He smells like cinnamon!
But cloves? She couldn’t tell.
Definitely no scotch.
He smells like cinnamon and coffee.
Stop. Pull away.
She was about to when his lips parted and his tongue, plump and plummy, wet and warm entered her mouth. And a flurry of electric sparks shot straight to her clit.
Shit. No.
Pull away. This is not—
She made no real attempt to do so, but afterward she would convince herself that his hands, which suddenly gripped her shoulders, held her there.
His breath, sprinkled with cinnamon, made the blood flowing south hot like rain in the tropics.
Oh my God, it’s him.
His hands tightened. His eyes popped open. He pushed her away.
Struggling to catch her breath, she shrugged off his hands and stood up. “See? It worked.”
Bringing his fingers to his lips, he stared at her, looking stunned and confused.
“You can thank your charming prince later, Sleeping Beauty,” Ceci said. “We had to figure out some way to wake you up.”
He blinked and quickly removed his fingers, looking from her to Roxanne. “We?” He hastily stood up. “What the—Where?” he muttered, barely even looking at Roxanne before his eyes landed on her.
“Don’t you remember?” she asked.
He looked around, gingerly touching his eye.
“It was a sucker punch,” he said, glaring at her.
“It wasn’t meant for you,” she spat. “Maybe if you’d stepped in and done something, I wouldn’t have had to.”
“As I recall, you didn’t want me to step in.”
“Well, not as a morally self-righteous Saint Paul condemning the sinner—which of course would be … me.”
“I didn’t do that.”
“You did, but that’s beside the point. It’s still your fault.”
“My fault?”
