He gave her a dark warning look, and without giving her time to prepare, he lifted her injured hand toward his mouth.
Viola's eyes widened when he bent his head, and she felt his warm mouth close over the wound.
Color burst across her cheeks and spread all the way down her neck when she felt his warm, wet tongue run gently against and around the injury, licking it with deliberate care. In spite of herself, a thread of heat coiled low in her stomach, unfamiliar and so disorienting.
"Wh-what are you—" she tried to speak, attempting to pull her hand away, but he whispered against her palm, his breath hot against her skin.
"Stay still, stupid. I'm trying to heal your wound. It's an eyesore."
