Liraeth's hands fell to the ground, her fingers brushing the air as she felt every ounce of anger slip away, washed clean by the taste of his kiss. It was like she'd been reborn, her body thrumming with something far more powerful than rage—an almost primal sense of victory. The way he gripped her, with unrelenting strength, made her feel... wanted. Needed. Desired.
She couldn't remember what she'd been so angry about. The anger evaporated in the heat of his kiss, swallowed whole by the deep, possessive hunger in his lips. Around them, the passersby watched—some stunned, some amused, maybe even smug—but she didn't care. None of them mattered. What mattered was the taste of victory. He kissed her, not that fucking fox.
"Mmm~" she moaned softly, drunk on his lips, his taste. My Sylvaris… my master... mine alone.
