Chapter Thirty-One
Holy oxytocin.
He tastes faintly like chocolate truffles, but the mouthgasm I’m experiencing puts any sweets-related ones to shame.
This isn’t real. It’s surreal.
Our tongues dance the most intricate ballet ever staged, and I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. Like his lips are sending shivers through my soul.
Someone clears his throat.
Art doesn’t seem to notice or care, but I reluctantly pull away. My face is hot and so are the more private parts of my body as I turn to face Festus, who’s trying really hard not to look disgusted.
With a sniff, he says, “We’re all set,” before adding under his breath, “Now go get a room.”
I touch my swollen lips. “Thanks?”
Should he who did all those anal tricks be throwing stones?
“Right,” Art says, his voice rou
