Don’t Look

Catrina's eyes flew wide. Her body locked in an instant.

Lathel did not stop. He tilted his head and tore at her mouth the way a drowning man seizes air. His teeth caught her lower lip hard enough that a thin taste of iron spread between them. She felt the thin skin tear. She felt her own blood smear across his mouth. The arm braced on the rim of the tub did not push him away.

Instead, Catrina bent a little lower and yielded to the pull.

She wanted it. Wanted it enough that even while reason still shouted that Lathel did not know what he was doing, her body opened to him and took every clumsy bite. When his teeth came seeking again, Catrina offered her tongue of her own accord, set it exactly where he was biting, as if she wanted him to take more—wanted him not to look anywhere else.

Lathel bit.