Whether intentional, or a mindless act, his other hand gripped my throat as he ran his finger up and down my slippery seam, gathering the slick dew he’d worked up. In my periphery, he brought his hand to his mouth, and a deep throaty sound of satisfaction rolled through his chest. “Why do you have to taste like a sweet forbidden fruit? Goddamn, you’re killing me, Lilia. I can’t do this. I can’t.”
