"Hold on," voice rough. He gave Serelith a lingering kiss, then eased her down until she lay across the bench among scattered schematics. She pulled him with her, fingers clutching his collar, hungry. Fabric rustled; tools clinked; another breathy laugh burst from Serelith as Mikhailis apparently whispered something wicked.
Lira's pulse hammered. Stop staring. But the leaf's glow, the sweat-damp curve of Serelith's shoulder, the arrow-straight focus in Mikhailis's eyes whenever he drew back just enough to look at the sorceress—it was all too intimate, too raw. And, she realized with a pang, heartbreakingly genuine. He wasn't merely indulging in thrill; he cared. Each brush of his knuckles over Serelith's cheek was tender, reverent.
That tenderness sliced Lira in two—jealousy like ice, desire like fire. She could almost feel his hand Ghost over her jaw, could almost taste the laughter that would spill against her lips. Heat coiled low in her belly, leaving her breathless.
