Red Rover
he whispered.
Then his lips were on mine.
My first kiss.
He started slow. A feather-light brush of his lips on mine, testing, waiting. When I didn’t pull away, he leaned in again, cupping my face, tilting my head just so. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and when I gasped, he slipped inside—gentle, coaxing, warm.
My hands moved to his hips instinctively, like I needed to anchor myself. I'd never even seen people kiss before I came to live with the wolves. It wasn’t something witches did in public. But wolves? Wolves kissed like it was a competitive sport.
Bab Populer