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You always hold me like this when you’re about to do something reckless,I murmur through the bond, letting the thought glide into her mind like smoke.Should I be nervous?

She doesn’t look at me, but her pulse skips. I feel it. Right there in the space between our hands. In the bond humming between us like a live wire strung too tight.

Maybe,she answers, her voice silk-wrapped steel, quieter than breath.

I lean in without moving closer. Just enough to let the thought sharpen.

Because here’s the thing, sweetheart. I know what your hand feels like when you’re afraid. When you’re fighting it. And this?I squeeze, slow and deliberate.This feels like you’re thinking about how good I’d sound with my mouth between your thighs.

Her steps hitch. Not enough for the others to notice. But I notice. Gods, I feel her hips shift, her breath catch in her throat, the weight of her attention pinning to me like gravity.

Silas,she warns, but it’s soft. Not a real protest. Never is.

Don’t worry,I breathe against her skin, thoughts curling like heat at the edge of her spine.I’m being good. Haven’t even told you how wet you were last time I touched you. How tight.

Her breath punches out like I’ve stolen it straight from her lungs.

I don’t stop.

You clenched so hard around my fingers I nearly lost it. One more second and I’d have come just from watching you fall apart. You remember that?

Her nails dig into my hand, but not to hurt. No—she’s grounding herself. Barely.

You whispered my name like it was a confession,I go on, slower now, softer.Like you wanted me to take you apart right there in front of everyone. Gods, you would’ve let me, wouldn’t you? If I’d asked.

I glance down, not needing to see her face to know her lips are parted. That she’s trying not to let the others hear the sound she’s holding back.

I love you like this,I murmur, reverent now. The teasing slinks into something deeper, hungrier.Half-trembling. Half-burning. I don’t even have to touch you and I can feel how badly you want it. How badly you want me.

She swallows hard. Doesn't speak. Doesn’t stop me.

So I slide the next thought in slow, low, wrecked.

I want to feel your thighs around my head again, Luna. I want to hear that little broken gasp you make right before you come. And I want to take my time with you next time. Use my mouth like a prayer. Like a curse. Make you lose track of the others entirely.

Her hand squeezes mine so tight it might bruise. Good.

Don’t let go,I say, not teasing anymore. Just soft. Intimate.Not even when they start asking questions. I want youwalking into that keep dripping from the sound of my voice alone.

She exhales. Not loud. Not enough to break the quiet between us. But I feel it.

And then—softly, finally—her voice curls back through the bond.

Then keep talking.

I send the image slow. Not with sound. Not with touch. Just memory. Just want. Me behind her, one of my illusions in front, both of us inside her. Her voice wrecked, her fingers clawing at the floor, her mouth open around a prayer that never finished. That perfect, impossible moment when she shattered—twice—because I pushed her too far and she let me.

She falters. Only a step. Only a breath. But I feel it down the bond like a ripple across something sacred.

You remember that?I ask, not with my voice, but straight into her. Thought to thought. Want to want.

Her grip tightens. Not to scold. Not to warn.

So I go deeper. I feed her the sound she made, low and hoarse, when I slid in beside myself. The way her legs shook when we didn’t stop, didn’t give her time to catch her breath before the next thrust. The way her back arched when I whisperedgood girlin her ear and kissed the words into her spine while my clone dragged his tongue up her throat.

I dream about that night like I’m starving for it,I murmur down the bond.The taste of you. The way you begged when it got too much. And you begged so sweet, baby. Not for it to stop—just for me to hold you while you came again.

Her lips part. She keeps walking, but slower now. Like her body’s listening more than her mind. Gods, I adore her like this. Unraveled at the edges, still trying to pretend she’s composed. Still gripping my hand like she doesn’t want to climb me.