Xavier's fingers traced the line where Calypso's collarbone met her shoulder, the pale skin flushing beneath his touch. Her breath hitched—a sound that made his pulse skip—as he pressed his lips to the spot, tasting the warmth of divinity wrapped in mortal fragility. The chamber's volcanic light cast shifting crimson patterns across Selene's borrowed form, the body Calypso inhabited shivering even as its celestial inhabitant held his gaze with burning intensity.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against her throat, fingertips skating along the bronze silk ties holding her gown together. "Say the word and I'll—"
Her hands fisted in his hair, nails grazing his scalp in a way that made his mouth go dry. "If you stop now," she breathed, "I'll turn you into something embarrassing. A toad. A soiled handkerchief." The threat lost its edge as her hips arched toward him. "Preferably the latter."
