Leonhardt's eyes narrowed as Erina turned and fled.
She didn't run exactly—no, she tried to walk. But her legs betrayed her, trembling beneath the weight of her shame. Her head turned back three times. Once to check if he was still watching. Once out of reflex. And the third, just before vanishing around the corner, was slower.
Lingering.
His thumb traced the edge of his mouth, slick with the faint wetness she'd left behind. He licked the edge of his lips, tongue dragging across where her mouth had pressed, letting the lingering taste settle on his tongue.
Vanilla.
Vanilla, honeyed breath, and the faint tang of helplessness.
"She'll struggle with that one for a while," he murmured.
It suited her.
Behind him, the chamber had already begun to cool. The scent of her arousal still clung faintly to the air, damp and confused. He breathed it in. Took it with him.
Her kiss wasn't a surrender. Not yet. But it was permission.
"She's softening," he said aloud.
