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Her hand slides from Lauma’s wrist to her waist, then stops there.
Again, Lauma laughs. “You’ll invoice me for this.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Lauma fits her palm to the clean line of Nefer’s jaw, the pad of her thumb resting at the ring on her lower lip. Her mouth parts, and Lauma kisses her like she’s testing water she already knows is warm.
OR: Negotiations between the Moonchant Envoy of the Frostmoon Scions and the head of the Curatorium of Secrets.
Bookmarked by qiqizzati
20 Sep 2025
