“If you wanted to get me drunk…” “…so I could wildly have my way with you…” he inserts. “Puppy,” I mutter, chiding. “Kitten,” he murmurs, right into my very soul. Leaning near, he whispers, “I wouldn’t get you drunk, sweetheart. You’re young. Naive. I’d ask.” He kisses my cheek, leaving me blistering red, eyes wide, mouth gaping. “But I’m not going to do that. Your parents would kill me.” I clutch the glass in my fist. “They’d kill you just for taking me here.” “I asked,” he says smoothly.
