Seong-Jae’s kiss was silk and flame and the hard, hot burn of a dram of raw whiskey setting Malcolm’s mouth on fire and searing all the way down to his belly. That sweet bruise of a mouth teased, assaulted, feinted, drew him in only to batter him back as their mouths met and parted and met again until they locked just so and Malcolm reached his melting point—that peak where his chest tightened and his blood became thunder and every taunt of Seong-Jae’s tongue tied another knot in Malcolm’s stomach, while every spark of pain graced by Seong-Jae’s teeth wound Malcolm’s body tighter.
