Her fingers curled into his shoulders. "You're going to ruin your own breakfast."
He kissed her again—just below where the honey had been. Then once more, lower still—but only barely, teasing the boundary without crossing it. His lips trailed a slow, reverent path along the upper swell of her breast, stopping just short of her stiffening nipple.
She shivered—full-body—hips rolling once against his thigh, leaving a slick trail of her arousal.
"Phei," she warned softly, voice trembling.
He paused, resting his forehead against her sternum. "Eat," he murmured against her skin.
She let out a breathy laugh. "You're evil."
"Disciplined."
"Is that what we're calling it now?"
He picked up the fork again and resumed feeding her, as if he hadn't just undone her composure with two simple kisses.
She took the bites more slowly now, distracted—her fingers tracing idle patterns along his shoulders, his chest, the faint bruises she'd left with her nails.
Halfway through, she stopped him.
