Then his mouth was on mine. Nyktos kissed me, and he—gods—he kissed like his very life depended on it, and this was one of those moments. There was no checked or banked passion. He went for it. Lips. Tongue. Fangs scraping, teasing. When his mouth left mine, my knees actually felt weak. “You were projecting,” he whispered against my throbbing lips. “Desire.” His tongue flicked over my lower lip, drawing a gasp from me. “Smoky and thick. If you keep thinking about whatever you have in your mind, we’ll never make it to the Vale.”
