The wind roared relentlessly, but that no longer mattered to Damon. The real spectacle was right there, in front of him—or rather, beneath him. Ester's slender, firm body, supporting him despite the storm, despite the weight, despite everything.
He smiled, a crooked, lazy smile, as if he had just discovered a new form of torture: not against himself, but against her.
And he decided to take advantage of it.
Damon let his chin fall gently onto her shoulder, inhaling the cold, sharp scent that always came from her, but also something else—a hidden sweetness, hard to capture, but addictive when perceived.
"You walk fast when you're angry…" he murmured, his deep, low voice vibrating directly against her ear.
Ester shivered. A shiver ran down her spine, but she pretended to ignore it. "Shut up."
He chuckled softly, his warm breath brushing her skin. "Ah... but what if I don't want to?"
