His fingers found the laces of her dress with practiced confidence.
He worked slowly, giving her time but not hesitating. Each lace pulled free revealed more of what the holy vestments had always hidden. When the dress finally slipped down her shoulders and pooled at her feet, Damien felt his breath catch.
The Saintess's ceremonial robes were designed to conceal. Layers of fabric, structured cuts, everything meant to present divine purity rather than mortal woman.
They'd hidden a masterpiece.
Elara stood before him in simple undergarments – white cotton, modest, nothing meant to entice. But the body beneath was anything but modest. Curves that were generous without excess, soft where she should be soft, toned where dedication to healing magic had required physical stamina.
Her breasts were fuller than he'd imagined, straining slightly against the fabric. Her waist curved inward before flaring to hips that were made for being gripped.
