The air in the ballroom still vibrated with the music. The light of the crystal chandeliers danced across the gilded mirrors, and the elegant bustle of the guests seemed completely oblivious to what had happened behind the closed door of the powder room. Andromeda’s face was composed, her movements measured, as she walked back into the crowd at Lucian’s side. But inside, she was still boiling. With every step, she felt the aftershocks between her thighs. Her gaze tried to remain neutral, but every so often, her eyes sought Lucian’s face of their own accord.
Lucian walked beside her in silence. Measured, controlled — yet when no one was watching, his gaze lingered on her, dark and smoldering. As if he was still digesting what they had merely postponed. On their skin still pulsed the memory
