            His mouth crashed into her hers, bruising with a need that only weeks, months of longing could fuel. Lucius’s hands found purchase on her waist, dragging her back into his lap, their lips never breaking. The wet heat of his mouth—the way his tongue darted out, desperate for entrance—the iron hold of his fingers—sliding up her shirt, palming her lower back—coaxed a moan from her throat the moment she broke away for a breath.