The marble of the ritual circle was still slick beneath her shoulder blades when Aiden drew out of her, inch by agonizing inch. A thick rope of their mingled release followed, painting her inner thigh in slow, obscene streaks of crimson and pearl.
The emptiness hit her like a wound. She arched after him with a broken whine, hips rolling shamelessly in the air, chasing the stretch she was already addicted to.
Aiden's laugh was dark velvet. "Look at you. One taste and you're starving."
She couldn't form words. Only nodded, frantic, yellow eyes blown wide with hunger. The chamber reeked of melted beeswax, iron, and the raw scent of their fucking. It clung to her skin like a second sin.
He lifted her as if she were made of smoke and silk, her ruined gown hanging in tatters, breasts bared and bitten, thighs trembling. The corridors swallowed them—long stretches of shadow and stained-glass moonlight, saints staring down in silent accusation. None dared intervene.
