“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“They promise sweetness,” he murmured, his thumb grazing the plush swell of her bottom lip. “And you have been nothing but sweet. But I keep waiting for the bite.” sugar baby lips
She looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, she leaned in and kissed him. It was not a sweet kiss. It was deep, searching, her tongue tracing the inside of his teeth, her teeth grazing his lower lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. It was a kiss that said: You think you own me. But you don’t even know me. “What are you doing
“Someone who is very tired of being a collection,” she whispered. But I keep waiting for the bite
She stared at him. Then, slowly, her unpainted lips curved into a smile—not the practiced, glossy smile she gave his business partners, but a crooked, uncertain, human smile.
But the center of it all, the currency he hoarded, was her mouth.