The Tyrant alpha
Fine by me.
I wrap her in my arms, lowering us to the ground so I can hold her better, and I keep kissing her—her mouth, her cheek, the line of her jaw, her neck. She giggles and squirms, and I stop immediately. I don’t want to give her any reason to draw away.
Nearby, her sad, struggling flowers flutter in the cool breeze. “Why are you growing those? Why not squash?” Squash will grow anywhere. You can’t stop it. It’s good eating, too, in a soup or roasted with butter.
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