Damien didn't say a word.
He just moved.
Stood in a single, fluid motion—his arms sliding under her thighs and back in one clean sweep, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. As if she belonged there. As if he'd been meant to carry her all along.
Elysia gasped—just softly—but it was there. Her legs instinctively tightened around his waist, and her hands—
They came up slowly, hesitantly, and then rested around the back of his neck. Not clinging. Not fearful. Just bracing. Gentle fingers curling at his nape like she was trying to steady herself… or accept that she was already steady with him.
"Y-Young master…?" she whispered.
Her voice trembled.
But her arms stayed.
Her breath hitched the second his mouth met her neck again.
Smooch.
Damien pressed his lips into the curve where her jaw met her throat, open-mouthed and possessive, letting her taste him in the rawest way—no armor, no titles. Just him. Just her.
She shivered in his grip. He felt it ripple through her spine.
