“I want to kiss you, little lavender. You may need to walk further away if you do not wish to be taken in my arms,” he warned.
“I am a brave soul, and I am betting I can handle you when you cannot even walk straight.” She snickered, walking with her head held high.
“I will give you straight.” He shoved her up against the garden wall. “You do not have to kiss me back, but I will taste you.” He bent his knees, was unsteady for a moment, but managed to remain locked in place as he inhaled at her neck, brushed his lips over her pulse in her throat. “Smell so goddamn good. You weaken me, and pull at my senses, begging me to taste”—he traced a line with the tip of his tongue along her pulse-point—“suck and mark you. Would you were mine, and I did not have to show you what a pig that king is.”
“Douche,” she whimpered, and her body trembled as her breath hitched.
“Please tell me you refer to him and not me.”
She chuckled under her breath. “I will allow you to ascertain the answer to that yourself.”
He bit her neck, growled and then let go. “No. Tell me yourself. We are not to play that game.”
“But you can lick and bite me at will?”
He shook his head. “Have I harmed you?”