The air in the room was no longer air; it was a medium, thick with Peter's essence. It felt less like a scent and more like a pressure, a palpable fog that curled into the lungs and rewired the nervous system.
Every breath was an infusion of him.
Victoria moved to kneel before Celeste, a gesture of intimacy. But as she leaned in, Celeste's body went rigid. Her back arched violently, head thrown back as if pulled by an invisible string. Her legs lifted, wrapping around a phantom presence, hips undulating in a frantic, silent rhythm against the empty space above her.
"I can feel him..." she gasped, her voice a broken whisper. Her hands clawed at the air where his shoulders should be. "Right there... don't stop..." A full-body shudder wracked her frame, leaving her trembling on the floor.
