Someone should have a talk with my body because the fucker was acting without permission. Or maybe Scar was a witch, and she’d hexed me. Because there was no way I should’ve leaned forward and cleaned up her thigh with my tongue. She tasted divine, and I longed to lap up more than her blood. I glanced up at her. She tipped her head back, lips slightly parted, and white-knuckled the counter like she was restraining herself from pulling my face to where she really wanted me. Or maybe those were all wishful thoughts on my part.
