Every nerve ending in my body turns toward that single point of contact. They vibrate as his finger carves a line of fire along my bottom lip. Oh, God. My jaw falls slack, and I let out a desperate, ragged breath. I’d fear I was hallucinating if it weren’t for the faint taste of tobacco on his fingerprint. I’ve never had a craving for nicotine, but Christ, the taste of secondhand smoke is enough to turn me into an addict.
