Seraphine POV
The silence of the Guest Wing was heavy, thick with the scent of crushed violets and cold iron, but my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling obsidian mirror, my breath hitching in my throat.
I woke with my lower body still throbbing, the phantom pressure of Malphas's tongue still ghosting across my buds. "FUCK! What the hell was going on?' The massive bed swallowed me in silk, my thighs slick and my linen shift twisted around my waist.
My hand drifted down before I could stop it, fingers finding the swollen flesh he had claimed, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out at the sensitivity.
The guest chamber was darker now, candles guttered low in their iron sconces. I had lost hours. My body felt used, rearranged, though I knew—I knew—that had been no ordinary dream. The taste of honeyed wine still lingered on my tongue. My hips rolled against my own palm without permission, seeking friction, seeking him.
