XIV

Her fingers trace the curve of my hip— a cartographer mapping desire in braille. This room—dim light, the scent of jasmine and skin— holds us in its amber glow. Seraphina's breath warms my neck, each exhalation a whispered promise.

I remember— that first night by the river, moonlight silvering the water's surface. Your hand in mine, trembling—or was it mine?— as we stepped into the shallows. The shock of cold, then warmth where our bodies met.

Your lips on my collarbone—now—as then— a brand that lingers long after the fire's gone out. This ache between my thighs, this hunger that gnaws at my edges— it began there, in the space between two breaths, two heartbeats syncing in the dark.

You murmur my name—Elara—a spell that unravels me, thread by thread, until I am undone, laid bare before you. Always, this longing— for your touch, your taste, the weight of you anchored against me in the drifting dark.

Want.