Maisie
Neither of us paid him any heed as Quinlan's hand came up to cup the back of my neck, his thumb pressing against the hinge of my jaw.
He pulled me toward him, and then his mouth was on my chin, his tongue sweeping up the drip of wine that had pooled there.
A shock of heat started at my jaw and traveled straight down my body, coiling tight in my belly. I whimpered and his grip on my neck tightened.
He kissed the underside of my chin, the hollow of my throat, the ridge of my collarbone. Each kiss was open-mouthed, his tongue lapping at the wine on my skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive places that made my breath catch. By the time he reached my chest, I'd forgotten about plans.
"Quinlan," I breathed, trying to remember where we were.
But his tongue followed the line of the neckline, dipping into the valley between my breasts.
