“You’ll like it. And even if you don’t, you’ll drink it.”
He props a hand on a silk-clad hip. “Oh, yeah? And why is that?”
“Because…” I lean closer. “It’s what I want to taste on your tongue later, when youbegme for relief.”
Honeyed florals blossom through Mylo’s scent as his blush deepens. “That’ll hardly be necessary.” His grumbles are more ritual than resistance at this point.
The bartender soon returns with our drinks—including the open bottle—and I thank him with a nod, handing Mylo’s glass of wine to him.
His gaze follows my drink as I lift it, and I slide my tongue around the cocktail straws to pull them to my mouth. As I take a deep drink, his pupils blow wide.
Mylo continues staring at my lips long enough to lose all plausible deniability.
“Go on,” I chide. “Try your wine. Tell me how much you loathe it.”
Mylo makes a childish face at me and takes a tentative sip.
His scent reveals his pleasure, leaning toward a note of lavender. I’ve always had a knack for scenting moods, even off betas. It’s been an asset and a half in this industry. But if a beta’s scent is like a sketchy radio feed, Mylo’s is 4kHD.
Mylo returns for a second, deeper drink, feigning ambivalence even as that lavender thread grows stronger.
If his veiled pleasure smells this good, what must his joy be like?
“It’s fine,” he reports. “Drinkable, I guess. Adequate.”
My mouth waters, eager to taste it—but not from his glass.
Soon.
“You’re in a good mood tonight,” I croon. “Anything else you’re finding…adequate?”
“Your company doesn’t make me currently want to vomit,” he says lightly.
I click my tongue. “Wow, high praise.”
“Don’t get used to it.” Mylo tries to look casual as he takes another deep drink from his wine, gaze drifting out over the party.
“You look good tonight. Really good.”
Surprise flickers across Mylo’s face, even as he refuses to look at me. I take the chance to stare openly, enjoying each little shade as his blush spreads again.
Nothing but two thin straps hold the slip dress on his shoulders: two little cords, so easy to cut and send the dress pooling at his feet… And then there’s the base of his neck, totally bare, inviting…
“Glad to hear you’re not blind,” Mylo finally says.
“Oooh, took you a while to come up with that one. Am I mistaken, or did youalmostaccept my compliment?”
“I have other people to talk to,” Mylo says, pushing off the bar. “Thanks for the drink.”
I lean down over his shoulder. “Stay.”
The hair on the back of his neck rises, gooseflesh prickling as a shudder rolls down his spine, every quiver visible through the thin silk.
If my tail were out, it’d be lashing eagerly behind me. God, he’s so fun to play with.
Mylo’s body tenses, and he glares at me as he returns to leaning against the bar.
“You can’t just do that whenever you want,” he growls.
