Miragin’s hand had tightened on her shoulder. “A kiss as a crime?” he whispered. When Elisa looked at him, his expression was
filled with pain.
A huge, dark figure came to stand over them. Oret’s fists were clenched and his voice came
out shaking. “Please make her stop
talking. There is no one here for me to
punch.”
Zemos’ grave expression lifted as he considered Elisa. A tight smile curled his mouth, making him
look excitingly wicked.
He told them all, “I will gladly quiet her words. We all will.
Let her body speak to us instead, since there is no one left to harm her
for such things.”
The Dramok kissed her again.
It was not as tender as his first kiss had been. Instead of quiet coaxing, his mouth took
Elisa’s in absolute demand. His hand
cupped the back of her head, giving her no way to escape.
Her brain seared clean of all thought. Even when Zemos pressed her down and to one
side so that she lay with her head pillowed on Miragin’s thigh, there was no
thought. The mouth on hers, plundering
without restraint, the hand that slipped between their bodies to cup her
breast, the pair of hands that slid up her inner thighs ... the sensations
filled her with need and blasted away lucidity.
International Version
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