“All better?” he rasps. “All better,” I confirm. “Sorry I made a mess.” Vincent groans low in his chest. “Say that again.” “What? Sorry?” Realization hits me. “Or I made a mess?” He runs his tongue over the ridge of his teeth. It makes me dizzy. “You”—I press an accusatory finger to his chest—“are a dirty boy.”
THIS IS SUCH A CRAZY INTERACTION RIGHT HERE
