Black wings taut and the devil in his eyes, his legs straddled mine on the floor, his hands gripping my waist. My silk dress clung to my curves, bearing more of me than usual. Breasts heaving, I relished the rebellious thrill pumping through my veins. My hem hiked higher as his legs brushed against mine. I forced myself not to laugh, knowing he was being naughty, and any movement would jostle the glass, spilling liquid all over me. A crowd cheered us on. Dark eyes met mine. “Don’t move.” His lips poised above the glass. “Trust me.” He pursed his lips and blew a fine line of flame, skimming the top of the glass with delicate precision. My rebellious heart leapt—thrilled at the danger of fire burning close to my skin and a fine Morgon man close to my mouth. Damn, I was drunk. More cheers as I lay stretched on my back, a glass of liquor and fire in my mouth. Crazy Jessen cheered with them. “Ready?” he asked with a grin.
