Time fractured.
The garden now lay drenched in moonlight and heat. Flowers trembled around them like silent witnesses—petals fluttering, air thick with forbidden scent. Above, the moon stared on, impassive. Below, a god was undone.
Valen writhed beneath Seraphine, his wrists still pinned in her grip. Eyes wild. Lips red from her kisses. Skin fevered with need.
" Seraphine…” he begged, his voice wrecked, vulnerable in a way only she had ever seen.
She tilted her head, gaze hungry and sharp.
“Still trying to move?” she purred, one brow arched.
Without warning, she sat back on his hips, her fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt. She dragged it up slowly, relishing every inch of exposed skin. Then, in one swift motion, she pulled it over his head—tossing it aside before reclaiming
