The events of last night were still a blur to her. She’d tossed and turned until dawn, replaying her kiss with Leo again and again until she’d memorized every moment of it. She remembered his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her waist. She remembered the way he’d gripped her like she was the very air he breathed. Kissing Leo was different than kissing Caspen—the prince was younger and looser and free, with none of the restrained power or deep, complicated seriousness that radiated off the basilisk. None of the depth of character either. But at least the prince wanted to fuck her.
