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“Christ, Catherine has bored her way into your skull,” says Peter. “Don't worry; we won't talk of it. We'll go hunting tomorrow, you and I. Kill some fucking animals. That always settles your stomach, hmm?” He flops an arm over Grigor's chest and plants a hot, damp kiss on his cheek. “Bring your wife a dead rabbit, Grigor Fyodorovich. Fuck her after. Quickens the blood.”
Grigor grunts. The Emperor's arm is pressing into his throat. On the other side of Grigor's body, his fingers are brushing, just slightly, against Georgina's lower lip.
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Bookmark Notes:
Anansbding beilliant cleared my sinuses and sins of the morning