“I’ll just touch his lips for a moment. I’ll kiss him. Nothing will happen, right? He’s drunk and won’t wake up. I’ll keep it in my memory…”
Heavy breathing tore from her lips; her icy hands clenched into fists. Rita leaned over Igor, heart pounding. It was a harmless touch to the lips. But even that made a whole swarm of butterflies flutter in her stomach, and wings seemed to grow behind her shoulders.
“His lips… they really are soft…”
“And what are you doing?” she heard his hoarse voice. Startled, Rita stumbled back from Igor, but was immediately caught by a firm hand on her wrist.
“You silly girl,” he exhaled—and drawing her to him, plunged into her mouth with a greedy, furious kiss.