Page 23 of The Vixen

Instead, he takes my toe into his mouth, thumb massaging the arch of my foot while his cheeks cave at the force he uses to draw me in. I jerk upright with a gasp, but don’t pull away.

I stare wide eyed as his tongue traces a light path to the base of my toe. His thumb presses into the arch of my foot as if he’s tuning an instrument, coaxing sound from bone and nerve.

Stop.

I should tell him to stop.

But my lips seal as thoroughly as his, and I tip my head back while he nibbles a slanted path along delicate bone. His enthusiasm refuses to falter until every inch of sickly flesh has been explored, every vein stroked by his tongue.

I don’t feel the moment it happens, but something in the air shifts.

The back of my neck prickles as the sheath at my ankle moves. I jolt straight, but don’t jerk my leg back like I should.

I look to Sawyer for meaning. Forguidance. As if it isn’t his hand that’s there.

Moronic choice.

But I make it.

He kisses the bridge of my foot one last time before retrieving my sheath. “Relax,” he whispers, tossing the leather pocket with my knife several feet behind him. “If I were going to make a move, it wouldn’t be that obvious.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out a breathy huff. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

He smirks as he replaces my damp foot with the boot-clad one. No intention of responding. Every intention of unsettling.

He is an ant, Luna.

My foot curls against the rough hardwood, cool air kissing the gap between my toes. His phantom tongue still prods as he removes the second boot and repeats the performance.

This time, he starts with a lick from the bottom of my heel to the tip of my awkwardly long middle toe. He gives each appendage attention—nipping, licking, sucking like he’s reciting a nursery rhyme.

If he’s waiting for my cue to stop … I could not be crueler.

“Enough.” The single word is a shattering of syllables. I clear my throat; jerk my foot against Sawyer’s unyielding hold on my ankle. “That’s enough.”

A moment passes while he stares.

Then with one last kiss to the top of my foot, he sets it on the floor and looks at me expectantly.

“Next?”

Next…

For several seconds, I’m genuinely silenced. My windpipe stuffs with throbbing tension I dare not name, but I don’t clear my throat—again.

I avert my eyes; look down at his crotch only to note he isn’t aroused. Yet my skin flushes at the mere idea ofnext. At the memory of his lips skittering across my collarbone, the feel of his hands circling my waist. His whisper in my ear,you’re so beautiful.

This was a mistake.

“The neck, perhaps?” Sawyer asks.

I shake my head, eyes never meeting his. “No, that’ll be all… You may go.”

He stays put. Every second of silence peels me open until I’m certain he sees it all.

And I let him.

With anyone else, I’d scoff. Bark. Shatter the silence with strength and a dismissive sigh.