I finally manage a bite, but some salsa drips onto my hand before I can stop it. I groan, reaching for a napkin, embarrassed again.

But you don’t give me the chance. You lean forward, eyes locked on me, and instead of handing me the napkin—you bring your lips down to my hand.

I freeze.

Your mouth brushes against my skin as you lick the sauce away, slow and deliberate. My breath catches, and my whole body stiffens, heat rushing up my neck.

“Ya…” I whisper, my voice barely coming out. It’s half a scolding, half a plea. My lips part in shock, and I can’t even look away.

You pull back just slightly, grinning like you know exactly what you’ve done to me.

My hand is still trembling when I finally manage to speak, my throat tight. “You… you can’t just do that,” I murmur, cheeks burning.