"You're breathing me in like I'm expensive tea, love."
"You smell better than expensive tea," Melissa murmured against his throat, her voice low and velvet-rough with something far warmer than amusement.
"I should hope so. Some of those teas taste like someone boiled a forest's trauma… while others taste like they were harvested from the gardens of gods who knew exactly how to make a woman forget her own name."
A sound escaped her, low and amused against his neck. "You really ruin every tender moment."
"No, I season them, adding heat and hunger in the mix. The kind of flavor that lingers on the tongue long after the cup is empty."
His sigh left him quietly, satisfied and utterly content, like a prayer finally rising from its knees.
Everything the world demanded of him could wait; power, plot, threat, progenitors and gilded families sharpening knives inside perfumed rooms could wait.
There was only her now; her warmth and her scent.
