The Velvet Snare

“I’m not so desperate that I need to force you.” His breath, warm as summer wine, caressed her cheek. Lips grazed the shell of her ear, tongue painting an unhurried, maddening stroke.

“Phoebe, are you sure you don’t want this? You used to beg me for it—couldn’t wait to pin me down. Have all those cravings really disappeared?”

That cultured voice, wrapped in the hush of night, became a hook baited