Gazing at me like he’s witnessing his first sunrise, he lightly sweeps his thumb over my top lip. He whispers gruffly, “You’re made of fine materials, Riley Rose.” Jesus fucking yellow penguins, this man is unreal. Sensing he’d tell me anything I wanted to know right now, I insist, “What’s your name?” When he moistens his lips, I think I’ll pass out. “Malek.”
