His lips migrated back to the delicate line of her throat, branding her skin with frantic kisses as his hands began a slow, possessive descent toward her thighs.
Then, with a suddenness that made the air turn cold, he stopped.
He pulled back, his gaze searching hers with a haunting gravity.
"And now?" he asked, his voice low. "Won't you take your medicine? I know you need it."
The words stung like a lash.
Olivia understood his meaning instantly—the bitter accusation veiled in concern.
It had been her ritual, her silent defense: drowning her senses in sedatives to endure the weight of his touch, to numb the reality of his presence.
"No," she whispered, her voice surprisingly steady. "I don't believe I'll be needing it anymore."
Mathias turned to her slowly, scanning her face for the truth buried beneath her calm exterior.
Then, driven by a raw instinct, he rested his head against her shoulder.
