“Could we kiss?” “What?” “We haven’t yet. It’d be nice, if we did. At some point.” “At some point,” he repeats in a haze. His hand cups the slick inside of my thigh, vibrating with restraint. “Now, if you want. Though I’m worried.” He scowls. “Worried?” “About my fangs. What if I cut you? Or bite your lips accidentally?” “You’ve bitten me before. I didn’t mind then.” He leans forward, eager. “I won’t mind now.”
