Page 26 of Moth to Her Flame

“No.” My word comes out breathless. “Just… watching you enjoy that…”

“Peach.”

Holy hell. How did he infuse that single syllable with so much erotic innuendo?

“I do enjoy it.” Another slow, purposeful bite. “Very much.”

Heat floods my core as his probe emerges again, this time with clear intent to affect me. Each movement becomes a promise, a preview, a suggestion that short circuits my higher brain functions.

His wings flare brighter, betraying his own arousal. The dusky light illuminates the droplets of juice on his lips, making them gleam. My own lips part involuntarily, imagining how that talented tongue would feel…

“Chelsea.” My name has become a growl that vibrates through my bones.

“Yes?”

“You’re not eating.”

Right. Dinner. Food. Normal things that don’t involve fantasizing about my cryptid protector’s absolutely devastatingnectar probe.

“Not hungry.” Not for chicken salad, anyway.

His knowing smile makes my stomach flip. “You should eat.” Another deliberate bite. “Keep up your strength.”

The way he says it—like he knows exactly what I might need my strength for—sends fresh heat coursing through me.

My attempt at eating is mechanical, tasteless. All my awareness centers on his continued enjoyment of that damned peach.

When he finally finishes, licking the last drops of juice from his fingers with excruciating thoroughness, I’m practically vibrating with frustrated desire.

“That was…” Words fail as heat floods my cheeks.

“Sweet.” His citrine eyes darken to molten gold, scorching me with naked hunger. "Though I suspect there are… sweeter treasures to taste."

The loaded silence stretches between us, heavy with possibility and promise. His wings flash with golden light that matches the throbbing between my thighs.

My phone lies on the counter, and before I can overthink it, I reach for it. The camera click makes his antennae twitch in surprise.

“Sorry,” I mumble, suddenly self-conscious. “You just looked… your wings were so bright, and I wanted to…”

His proboscis emerges to taste the lingering peach juice on his lips as he examines my screen. In the photo, his wings cast patterns of golden light across the kitchen, his expression caught in a moment of pure enjoyment. “I like seeing myself through your eyes.”

Taking another quick shot catches him mid-smile, wings flaring brighter. The photos show none of the alienness that first repelled me—just beauty and a soft warmth I wouldn’t have thought possible when we first met.

“You realize, don’t you, that you hold my destruction in your hand? Me and all my friends, Chelsea.”

That statement hit me with the force of a tornado. Then I realize something else.

“With Apex searching for you, this could mean my destruction, too, Riven. I just wanted to capture the moment, like a dragonfly in amber. Here, I’ll—”

He stops me by placing his hand over mine.

“Keep it, Chelsea. I said that not because I wanted you to destroy the picture, but because I wanted you to know how much I trust you.”

My stomach clenches and my throat tightens at the impact of his words.

“That means a lot, Riven.”

I’m brought back to the present when I realize it’s either time to kiss, or to change the subject.

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