When Cixi had agreed to those terms, she had understood "kiss" the same way every sane human being on the planet understood it. Lips to lips. Mouth to mouth. The universal, unambiguous, uncomplicated act of pressing your face against someone else's face.
She had never, in her most deranged nightmares, considered what Cassian had just explained.
A kiss on the neck counted. A kiss on the earlobe counted. A kiss on the forehead, the shoulder, the wrist, the stomach, all of it counted. Every definition Cassian had recited and every location he had named while his gaze traced her body as a cartographer mapping uncharted territory, every single one of those fell under the curse's jurisdiction.
Which meant what, exactly?
