I glared at Christian as the blood smeared around. “You could have at least licked it.”He smirked darkly. “I hear that all too often.

Oh.” I touch my cheeks. “You licked me.”He laughs and leans over, giving a tiny tongue swipe to my hand. “You’re very lickable.”I try to hit him. He laughs harder and grabs my hands.“No fair! Mere mortal against werewolf,” I complain.“Fine.”He lets go, but first he kisses my fingers, each of them. I sigh happily.

Do you want me to lick you again?

I had a dream about you. I licked your cone of ice cream. It was envelope flavored.

The whole world can't lick us but we can lick ourselves by longing too hard for things we haven't got any more - and by remembering too much.