“Are you wicked?” she murmurs as she tugs my hair free from the bun and presses a soft kiss to my jawline. A deep, primitive sound comes from my throat. “Hmm, very.” “Good.” She pulls on my gray necktie, then removes it slowly. She runs the silk through her fingers, brings it to her nose, and then tucks it inside her bodice. “My souvenir.” “If you get to keep one, then I want one.” “I’m your souvenir.”
