His spit landed with a wet, obscene plop right between her cheeks.
Lira jerked like he'd slapped her. The heat of it — his spit — ran slow down the line of her cleft, sticky and warm, clinging to skin that was never meant to be touched. Her back arched, thighs shaking over his shoulders.
"Don't you fucking—Cruxius!" she gasped, but her voice cracked halfway through.
He didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
His thumb moved down, slow and steady — dragging the spit with it, spreading it.
Slickhhk…
He circled her rosebud like it was something precious, like it deserved to be seen, touched, marked. The pad of his thumb traced soft, lazy spirals over the tight ring — and her body reacted before her words could catch up.
She twitched.
A full-body twitch. One sharp pucker right where he touched.
Her mouth fell open.
"Nhhn—!"
The sound escaped — half breath, half moan — strangled.
He heard it. She saw it in his fucking smile.
"That wasn't pain," he murmured, voice all grit and heat.
