The cold, commanding voice of Zeran made Lethia press her lips together. It felt so wrong.
She should've spat back at him or just shrugged her body to escape his hold. But he was right—her knees were still weak and trembling.
She should've said something at least, but why did she feel so damn scared to argue back?
Zeran headed to a room at the corner of this floor. He ordered Lethia to tighten her grip as he reached for the door.
With her hands clinging even tighter to his nape, Lethia's face drew nearer to the crook of his neck.
The raw, masculine scent that hit her nose made her inhale it deeper. It was a reflex she hated, yet couldn't help but enjoy at the same time.
She didn't know what was happening to her body anymore, betraying her so completely.
Was it the heat? But this felt different from what she'd felt with Renar and Caelum. This time, she didn't overthink it and let herself drift toward the edge of submission.
