"Did your master taste that good?"
The words dropped like a stone into still water.
Elysia flinched.
It wasn't much. Just a small, fractional twitch in her posture—her fingers curling slightly around the edge of the tray, the shift of her shoulders just tight enough to be noticed by someone who knew how to look.
And Damien was looking.
She didn't respond. Not with words. Not immediately. She kept her face as neutral as possible, gaze fixed forward, back straight, breath even.
But that single moment of stillness said more than silence ever could.
Damien laughed, low and rich as he began his descent—ropes groaning slightly as his weight slid smoothly downward.
"I told you, didn't I?" he said as his boots touched the mat with a soft thud, his voice closer now, warmer, more dangerous in the way it curled around her like smoke. "You don't need to act so stiff anymore."
He stepped toward her, sweat trailing down his chest, hair damp and tousled, smile all mischief and hunger.
