The second Malvoria's lips met hers, Elysia forgot how to think.
She forgot why she had been teasing Malvoria in the first place, forgot the heat rising in her own face as she tried to pretend that the closeness of their bodies didn't make her breathless.
Forget that she was supposed to be resisting, pushing back, keeping her wits about her instead of letting herself be drawn into this ever-tightening spiral of need, of something dark and consuming.
Something that she had already tasted twice before and should have known by now was too dangerous to let happen again.
But gods, Malvoria knew how to kiss.
And it was devastating.
There was nothing soft about it, nothing hesitant or questioning; it was dominance incarnate, an unrelenting, all-consuming force that crashed into her like a storm, a demand rather than an invitation.
