Some of the ichor within the strawberry overflowed her lips, dripping syrup down her chin. Sorcha didn’t see him move, but she felt the touch of his hand as though he branded her. His calloused thumb traced the line of liquid from chin to mouth. It rasped over her sensitive lip, catching every last drop of sticky juice. One of the crystals on his palm scraped her jaw. Cold to the touch, it was a lightning bolt of sensation against the sudden, flaming heat of her cheeks. She parted her lips in a silent gasp. The smooth texture of his nail touched her top lip, dipping into the warm breath she
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