Page 98 of Heimlock

Trinte tilts his head, assessing me. “Are you feeling vengeful over coffee, Kyrielle?”

Holding his gaze, I part my thighs enough to catch his attention. He swallows hard; the tip of his tail curls toward me.

“I think so,” I say conversationally. With a pained sigh, I shake my head in sadness. “Looks like someone deserves some poorly made hazelnut coffee.”

Trinte takes a step closer, which, in this small kitchen, almost puts him between my thighs. “Punishments so early in the morning? You’re a demanding former patient, Firefly.”

My legs part a little more. “Just keeping standards high.”

Neither of us breathes as this tension between us coils tighter and tighter. Without saying a word or looking away, Trinte lowers onto one knee. Then the other. Positioning his head at the perfect height for so many things.

His deep voice is low and melodic as he says, “Well, cruel mistress, are you going to deliver my punishment?”

My thumb presses against his chin. “Open wide.”

Trinte parts his lips, sticking out his tongue. Heart rattling against my ribs, I take a sip of my coffee. He watches me swish it around in my mouth. When I lean over, his eyes flutter close.

In what becomes one of the wildest moments of my life, I spit the hazelnut coffee into his mouth. Some splashes the edges of his lips, but most of it goes right down his throat.

He swallows, then lazily licks up the rogue splashes. When his eyes reopen, it’s with a newfound heat that boils my blood.

Inspired, I murmur, “And what do we say?”

“Thank you.” He says the words with so much sincerity, it only increases the need building in my belly.

Those two words awaken something inside me for the first time. Taking another sip of my coffee, I frown. “Oh, no.”

Enthralled, Trinte watches my every move as he says, “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot you messed it up and took another sip.”

“Would you like to punish me again?” He says, curious. This man would probably let me spit into his mouth all morning if I asked. Actually, no.

He definitely would.

While it’s incredibly tempting, I shake my head. There’s something I want — need — more.

Tapping a finger to my lips, I say, “I need help getting the bad taste out of my mouth.”

Heat blazes in his expression. I love the sound of his breath turning ragged. “Any ideas on how to accomplish that?”

I beckon him to stand with a crooked finger. In a flash, he’s upright, consuming the space again. Filling my senses with his presence. Blood throbs between my legs. Widening my thighs to accommodate his hips, I grab his shirt to tug him closer. His hands brace against the counter, close enough to my hips that I can feel their heat.

This is one of those moments where it’s impossible to turn back once the line is crossed. Even though I’m confused about what we are, or how he feels, I’m hoping he’s willing to cross it.

Our mouths are barely a fist-distance apart as I whisper, “Help me replace the flavor with your taste, Trinte.”

Without a beat of hesitation, his lips crash against mine. As our tongues collide in greedy strokes, it’s as if no time has passed at all. Like our last kiss was merely on pause, and this is the organic continuation.

My hands slide along his broad chest, settling behind his neck. Rough hands grab my hips and slam our bodies together. We moan at the same time; I devour the sound like it’s sustenance for my soul.

He spent three days taking care of me, offering me nothing but dignity and respect.

Right now, I want to be very undignified and spend the morning being absolutely disrespected.

But Trinte’s loosening his grip and his energy recedes. When the kiss breaks, it’s gentle and with reverence. The fingers gripping my ass cheeks relax.

“What’s wrong?” I ask between breaths.