Page 55 of Hungry As Her Python

Except Conrad wasn’t my mate.

I had to keep telling myself that.

He bit into the lemon bar, and the deep, masculine sound he made in his throat nearly buckled my knees.

“These are fantastic,” he said around the second bite. “Did I already tell you lemon’s my favorite? Good Goddess, woman, I could eat the whole tray.”

“I know. I mean about lemon being your favorite,” I admitted before I could stop myself.

His grin was slow and wicked, like he knew exactly how much attention I paid to him.

And maybe he was right.

I watched as a smear of lemon filling clung to his pinky.

He caught me looking, and instead of grabbing a napkin like a normal person, he brought his hand to his mouth.

And licked.

The tip of his tongue swirled, slow and deliberate, before he drew it into his mouth and sucked the last trace away.

My mouth went dry.

Because I knew that tongue.

Knew what it could do.

Knew what it felt like when he shifted that part of him, forking that long, muscled appendage and tasting me with it.

Heat coiled low and tight between my legs, my robe suddenly feeling like the thinnest, most dangerous thing I owned.

My nipples peaked against the silk, my breathing quickening.

Conrad’s gaze darkened, the green deepening to a molten emerald.

“You’ve got something on your lip, Sugar.”

Before I could swipe at it, he was there—closing the space, his thumb brushing my mouth.

Not a quick wipe, but a slow, lingering drag that had my lips parting on instinct.

His hand was warm, rough in all the right ways, and my body leaned toward his without my permission.

“You want me to get the rest?” he asked softly.

I should have said no.

Should have laughed it off.

Instead, I whispered, “Yes.”

And his mouth was on mine—soft at first, teasing, like he was testing how far I’d let him go.

Then deeper, hungrier, the taste of lemon and sugar mixing with the heady, male taste of him.

My hands found his bare chest, the heat of his skin scorching my palms.

When his tongue brushed mine—just the faintest flicker of that forked edge—I moaned into his mouth.