Adriana's lips parted. She tried to speak; to find any words that would let her push back, lecture herself, remind her body that she was still a married woman and this was wrong, just like the way she had spent years convincing herself she no longer needed any of this.
But the words would not come no matter how much she opened her mouth but sighs of anticipation.
They caught in her throat, tangled, and died.
In the end all that escaped was a broken, stuttering sound.
"I— I can't— this is— I shouldn't—"
Phei's long finger rose and pressed gently but firmly against her lips, silencing her mid-stutter.
His thumb settled at the corner of her mouth, the pad of it resting just at the seam where her lips met, warm and deliberate but he did not push inside; he simply held her there, quieting the words she could not finish; but his touch went beyond that and became both a command and an invitation.
