“Make it a heart, mate.” This time it was a growled order, and she fell back to her heels, staring up at him. He blinked, wincing. “I mean … please?” His voice was strangled now. “You can call me that,” she whispered, her skin tingling. He took a moment, probably to catalogue the butterflies in her stomach and her hitched breath before he slowly nodded. He knelt, putting his face by hers, his fingers soft on her chin. “Then, mate—” He kissed her gently, both of them groaning at the soft, fleeting contact. “—please draw a heart and please draw it now.”
