The kiss, deep, invasive, claiming, was there. His lips, his mouth, his tongue, invaded. Her eyes, the widening, the shock, the absolute, world-ending shock, were there. Her hands, on his chest, pushed. The resistance, the instinctive, automatic resistance of a woman being kissed without consent, was there.
But his arm, the divine-qi-reinforced arm, held. She could not move. Could not push. Could not break free.
His tongue, his divine-qi-infused tongue, invaded. Her mouth, her coral lips, her tongue — all were claimed. The kiss, the deep, wet, invasive, French kiss, was there.
And then, the transfer. The wine, the tea, the aphrodisiac-laced liquid that he had just drunk — he pushed it. From his mouth, through his tongue, into hers. The fluid, the golden, warm, tainted fluid, flowed. Into her mouth. Down her throat.
