His voice came near her ear, low and steady as he began to explain the script before them. Every word vibrated against her skin. She tried to focus on the text—the delicate letters inked in black—but her pulse betrayed her calm.
No matter how often it happened, no matter how calm his tone became, she could never quite shake the feeling that it was something they both should not allow. Yet there she stayed, listening as his quiet voice brushed against her ear, learning from him as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
But as she shifted, a jolt, subtle yet undeniable, shot through her. Beneath the expensive silk of his breeches, something firm and unyielding pressed against her bottom.
Metheea stiffened imperceptibly, her breath catching.
She wasn't sure what it was. A fold in his clothing? A buckle? Her innocent mind scrambled for an explanation, dismissing the strange warmth that was already beginning to seep through her gown.
