Her eyes latched on to mine, compelling as the Samhain night beyond the window. “And is it?”

“Oh, Talia,” I whispered, with something close to anguish. “I don’t know anymore.”

Then I leaned in to kiss her.

Her lips parted immediately under my mouth, tongue sweeping against mine, silken and sweet with oranges. She slid both hands around my waist and tugged me fully onto her lap, running her palms up my back and then burying them in my hair, tugging my head down to deepen the kiss.

I cupped her face, trailing my fingers over her cheekbones and the sharp line of her jaw, whispering them down her neck and the jut of her collarbone beneath the chain links of her halter top. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and under the slick fabric her breasts were warm and heavy in my hands, nipples standing out hard when I brushed my thumbs back and forth over them.

“Fuck, Emmy,” she murmured against my mouth in a little groan.

“Did you . . . did you just say my name?” I asked, so startled that I pulled back a little, an electric thrill singeing through me at the way those two syllables sounded. Like no one before her had ever gotten my name quite right.

“Emmy,” she said again, now with a teasing twist, smiling as she tightened her grip on my hair. I let my head fall back, gasping as she kissed the spot right under my jaw. It sent a coursing rush of tingles down my side, set a second pulse to beating between my thighs. I squirmed against her, helpless with want, as she trailed kisses all the way down my throat.

“Emmy,” she said again, against my skin. “Do you like to hear me say it?”

“I fucking love it,” I said, so strained with need I barely sounded like myself. Her fingers drifted down to my blouse’s hem, and I lifted my arms to let her pull it over my head.

Then her mouth was everywhere, leaving smoldering trails across my breasts where they swelled over my demi-cup; a frothy wisp of black and silver lace that I’d put on earlier tonight, hoping she would see it.

She ran her tongue over the space between my breasts, one hand skimming down my ribs and waist before grasping my hip, the other tangling in my hair, keeping my head pulled back. I’d been dreaming of ways to make her moan, but instead it was me who couldn’t stop making noise. When she peeled one cup of my bra down just enough to draw my nipple into her mouth, her tongue flicking over it, I groaned low and deep, winding my arm around her neck.

I wanted her so badly it hurt, a delicious, twisting ache between my thighs.

“Don’t stop,” I moaned as she pulled my hair a little harder, arching my neck. “Don’t—”

Someone knocked on the door, three light raps.

“Motherfucker,” Talia said through her teeth, pressing her cheek against my chest. “You have got to be shitting me.”