Lyander rocked into her a few more times, riding out every last wave of pleasure until his body gave in completely.
When the final pulse left him, he groaned—loud, raw, and full of frustration.
"Fuck," he growled, then rolled off Liora, collapsing onto his back beside her. His chest rose and fell rapidly, muscles twitching from exertion, sweat glistening on his skin in the fading light.
For a few moments, neither of them moved. The cool night air brushed against their heated bodies, grounding them in the reality they'd just created.
Liora sat up slowly, her thighs still trembling. Her gaze landed on Lyander's discarded shirt nearby—he'd said he was going to throw it away anyway.
Without asking, she grabbed it, using the soft, worn fabric to gently wipe herself clean. His release had coated her belly and breasts, warm and sticky—a visible reminder of what they'd done.
She needed to erase all evidence. Because this couldn't be discovered.
