He pulled back from her, his expression almost stoic. “You have to be very still,” he instructed, starting by placing the lime wedge in her mouth. She bit down on the rind, holding it in place.

Moving down, he shook the salt three times over her neck, the tiny crystals landing right in its center. And on her stomach, he delicately poured the thinnest stream of the drink, collecting in a tiny pool over her navel. It tickled slightly, causing her body to flutter as she held in a nervous laugh.

“Shh,” he hushed her, looking up to meet her eyes. “You’ll spill it.”

Seamlessly, he moved to her neck. At the moment his tongue met her salted skin, she involuntarily gasped, biting harder onto the lime wedge. She felt the liquid slipping down the sides of her stomach with her sharp inhale. Undeterred, he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, willing her to stillness as he licked the last of the salt from the small divot in her neck. Without swallowing, he moved to her stomach, closing his eyes. His tongue began by licking along the sides where a bit of the shot had spilled, then dragged its way up to her center where the tiny pool of mezcal waited for him. He drank from her, his free hand moving to the waistband of her skirt to pull it out of the way.

Once he’d lapped up the shot, he glided back up to face her, his eyes bearing intensely into hers. She had never seen him like this, so insistent and so gentle at the same time. She felt her pulse radiate down her legs, frozen in place with the heaviness of her body. He moved his hand from her skirt to the side of her face, cradling it as he tilted her chin toward him, bringing his mouth down onto the lime wedge she was still gripping between her teeth. His lips closed around hers as he sank his teeth into the pulp of the fruit, draining the juice from it. Their eyes closed simultaneously, juice flowing between their open mouths, exhaling deeply into each other as his hand moved its way into her hair.

“Bravo!” Paul called out, standing to applaud them from across the room.

They pulled apart in shock, Danial swiftly taking the lime from his mouth and coming to his feet. Alex sat up, disoriented, nearly shaking with the intensity of the experience.

“That mezcal is good,” Danial offered unsteadily, running a hand through his hair before turning to collect the supplies from the table. “I’ll have to buy some.”

Hands full with the bottle, the shaker, and the empty lime, he turned to face Alex, who was still pinned to the bench. His eyes met hers, somewhere between a scowl and a smile, a look of confusion and heat.