“You really let me down.” Lenetia stirs what looks like a bubbling stew that smells of vegetables and herbs. My mouth waters. “Let you down?” “I thought I was going to see some hot mating fuckery last night. All I saw was awkwardness and then sleeping.” My cheeks turn about twenty shades of crimson. “I’m not mating.” “You will be.” She scoops a ladle full of the stew into a wooden bowl and hands it to me. “You’ll be riding that king over there like he’s one of those stallions in no time.”
