Samson's gentle hand landing on her clenched right fist snapped her apoplectic rage as she settled back into her own seat with little more than a grumble.
She felt herself float behind her eyes, detached from the world as she disengaged from Samson's hand, lifted her chair, hiked its weight across the thick carpeting three times, so she could be closer to her mate, before settling back into its comforting stability. That was not enough for her. Persephone felt the first wave of drunken dizziness as she reached under the table, scooped her legs with her left hand and slipped her feet under her bottom so she could lean comfortably on her husband, with her right shoulder.
Lost in her own pleasingly slow thoughts, Persephone marveled at the sound of that, and thought over and over again to
