"Almost," she murmured, the word barely a breath between them.
Then she leaned in, knuckles grazing the curve of his jaw, and her lips found his—not with the playful teasing of earlier, but with a slow, unhurried intent. Her mouth pressed softly at first, exploring, tasting, but the gentle brush quickly deepened. Her lips parted, and her tongue slipped forward, meeting his in a slow, languid dance that sent a warm shiver through him.
Mikhailis's hands instinctively found her waist, pulling her closer, but Cerys was already pressing against him, her fingers curling at the nape of his neck, threading through his thick, unruly hair. Her tongue explored with a teasing flick, brushing against his, then retreating, only to coax him further. A soft, breathy sigh escaped her, swallowed by his mouth, and she shifted closer, her body pressing firmly against his chest.
