“I pull my fingers through her in another loop, slightly closer to where I know she wants it most.
Sabri’s breath comes in rough pants near my forehead. Her grip on my shoulders is so tight that it hurts. I’m sure I’ll have bruises there tomorrow—and knowing they’ll be in the shape of her hands sends a bolt of something right to my core.
“Anya, please…”
“Still,” I say, teasing another light circle and she moans, desperation clinging to her voice. “Since it ended up with you writhing on my fingers so prettily, calling my name like this... I can't say I regret a thing.”