Kyan's heart thudded against his ribs like a war drum.
What am I doing? his inner voice screamed. This is stupid—this is Nico. The guy getting married. The guy who's dangerous. Off-limits. Off-limits!
He pulled back slightly, voice shaky. "You're drunk…"
Nico smirked, eyes half-lidded as he stepped forward again, that lazy predator gaze pinning him.
"I'm not drunk," he whispered, his breath fanning across Kyan's lips. "I'm starving."
Kyan's back hit the railing, and Nico's hand slid around his waist, pulling him close. Too close. So close it felt like they shared the same breath.
"I brought you food," Kyan stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "We shouldn't… do this."
But Nico only leaned in, his voice low—so low it wrapped around Kyan's spine like silk.
"You really think I want food when you're standing here looking like this?" His lips ghosted over Kyan's ear, warm and slow. "Your lips… you came all this way to feed me, softie. But all I want to taste is you."
