The night air was cool against their flushed skin as they lay tangled in the grass, limbs still trembling, breaths finally easing.
Seraphine reached lazily for her discarded dress, the silk damp with dew and passion, and pulled it over her head with a low hum of satisfaction. “We’re going to catch a cold,” she murmured, voice husky with the remnants of pleasure.
Valen chuckled as he reached for his shirt—torn where she’d used it to bind his wrists—and gave her a wicked grin. “Worth it.”
She shot him a teasing look as she smoothed her gown back into place and crawled over to where he reclined against the marble bench, pulling his cloak over them both. “You’ll never look at that shirt the same way again.”
“I’ll never look at you the same way again,” he said, his voice lower, rougher. “N
