Shadows of Desire
“Tell me, Cassie… what’s worse? The touch or the waiting?”
“The waiting,” I admitted, almost a moan.
He chuckled, low and dark. “Good. That means I’m doing it right.”
The game continued — cool metal pressed briefly to my skin (a spoon chilled in ice, I realized), followed by the shocking contrast of warm breath. A trickle of something sweet brushed my lower lip — honey, thick and slow — and then, cruelly, he pulled it away before I could lick it clean.
“You’re learning patience,” he teased.
Bab Populer