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“Elio,” I gasped. My eyes were on him, on this beautiful man who knew exactly how to please me. My nails dug into the fabric of the couch as pleasure coiled tight inside me.

“You’re exquisite like this,” he whispered as he pushed me toward the edge. Then his fingers slowed, patiently drawing out every bit of pleasure, before speeding up again. “Falling apart for me.”

I moaned, losing myself to the sensations. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak—the world collapsed down to him and his teasing touches.

Then he backed away, watching me. He leaned down and traced the prevention rune on my lower stomach with a finger still wet from my juices.

“Do you know what this means?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Then let me ruin you properly.”

He draped me over the arm of the couch, my chest pressed against the worn fabric, my back arching as he positioned me exactly how he wanted. His hands trailed down my spine, slow and deliberate, teasing every nerve ending along the way.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with approval. “So beautiful like this… pliant, waiting.”

“Elio,” I gasped, wriggling, trying to turn my head to look at him, but he pressed a hand to the center of my back, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.

“Ah, ah,” he chided, amusement laced with something darker. “No peeking, darling. Just feel.”

His fingers skimmed over my hips, then down to the soft skin of my inner thighs, brushing against where I ached for him but never quite giving me what I needed. His touch was maddening—feather-light, infuriatingly slow.

“Elio,” I groaned, shifting my hips, seeking more.

“Yes?” His thumb circled my clit, light enough to make me tremble but not enough to satisfy. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” I gasped, my fingers clenching against the couch as frustration built inside me.

He chuckled, warm and low, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the small of my back. “Then you shall have me.”

His fingers left me, the sudden absence making me whimper, but then I heard the unmistakable sound of metal clinking—his belt, his zipper. The air thrummed with anticipation, with the quiet hum of magic and heat between us.

“Are you ready?” His voice was rough, unsteady in a way that sent a thrill through me.

“Yes,” I whispered, pressing back against him.

The moment I said it, he thrust into me, filling me completely. A gasp tore from my lips as I stretched around him, the sensation overwhelming, delicious.

“Elio,” I moaned, my forehead pressing into the couch as pleasure coiled deep in my core. I wanted to see him, to watch the way he unraveled, but I couldn’t. He kept me like this, shrouded in sensation, teased by the unknown.

“Feel me,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place as he pulled back and thrust into me again, setting a slow, agonizing rhythm. “That’s all you need to do.”

His fingers found my clit again, stroking in time with his movements. The dual sensation sent a bolt of pleasure through me, making me arch, making my breath come in ragged gasps.

I reached back blindly, my fingers grasping at anything, but he caught my wrist, twisting it behind me and pinning it to my lower back. The shift made me cry out, the angle deeper, his control absolute.

“Mari,” he rasped, his own restraint slipping. “You feel unreal.”

I was unraveling, every thrust pushing me closer, every whispered praise setting my skin on fire. The world outside this moment ceased to exist—all I knew was the push and pull of him, the heat, the pleasure, the ache.

“Elio, please,” I whimpered, desperate, teetering on the edge.

He leaned over me, his breath hot against my ear. “Come for me, darling.”

The moment he said it, I shattered, pleasure crashing over me in waves so intense I saw stars. My body clenched around him, dragging him into his own release. He groaned my name, his voice raw as he pulsed inside me, his grip on my hips tightening as he rode out the pleasure.

For a long moment, we stayed like that, tangled in the aftermath, our breaths uneven. His lips pressed to my shoulder, soft now, reverent.

“You were exquisite,” he murmured, finally releasing my wrist and smoothing his hands over my back. “But I do wish I could’ve seen your face.”

I let out a breathless, sated laugh, still coming down from the high. “Next time.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me back against his chest. “Oh, darling, there will be a next time.”

Afterward, Elio tugged me onto the couch and into his arms. Our bodies were still trembling from the intensity of what we’d shared, but now there was peace in the silence between us. No masks, no illusions. Just skin, warmth, and the steady rhythm of his breathing against mine.

His hand found mine, our fingers lacing together as we lay tangled in each other. Slowly, our breaths evened out, rising and falling in unison. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the remnants of our magic hum softly around us, light and shadow twining like something ancient and instinctive.

Later, he moved quietly across the room and picked up his violin. The familiar sight of him with the instrument sent a pang through me—I was used to Elio performing, his pursuit of flawless perfection. But this… this wasn’t that.

He didn’t play for the crowd. He played for me.

The first note shivered through the air, raw and aching. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t charming. Each phrase bled into the next like something torn open and left to pulse in the light. A confession in sound—the only language he trusted more than illusion.

A shiver slid down my spine. The melody held the weight of everything we weren’t saying—the chaos of the night, Keane’s absence, the shared wounds we both pretended not to feel. Echo’s scales rippled with every shift in tone, catching flickers of dawnlight through the enchanted dome above us.

I stood slowly from the couch where I’d curled up earlier, drawn in by the way the music wrapped around us like a truth spell. It sank into my bones, mapped across my skin like a ghost of his touch. My breath caught as the final note faded, stilling the room like the pause before sunrise.

Elio lowered the violin, but didn’t move. His gaze found mine, raw and open. “We’ll get him back,” he said quietly. “Keane. Every wellspring they’ve poisoned. We’ll undo it all.”

“I know.” My voice was steady. I crossed the space between us and reached for him—no hesitation this time. He caught me as I moved into his arms, one hand sliding around my waist, the other pressing the violin gently aside.

He drew me back toward the couch, guiding me down without breaking eye contact. I curled into his side, and this time, we didn’t speak. Our magic met in quiet pulses—steady, honest. Unmasked.

Echo settled nearby, her scales finally still, deep purple flickering softly.

“Together,” I whispered again, and his hand found my hip, grounding me. Steady and real.

I let my head rest against his shoulder, let the thrum of his heartbeat steady mine. The tension bled away, and in its place: something tender. Quiet. Whole.

Whatever came next, we would face it. No more illusions. No more masks.

Just this.