With a soft, wet sound, Edward withdrew his mouth from Thaleia's right breast and lifted his head, his eyes settling on her flushed and uneven expression. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick rhythm as she struggled to steady herself. A faint tremor ran through her shoulders, not entirely from the cool air against her bare skin, but from the weight of the moment itself.
Edward rose to his feet, still fully dressed in his black blazer and neatly pressed trousers. His composure stood in sharp contrast to Thaleia's vulnerable state. His gaze moved over her naked form with careful attention, not in admiration, but in assessment. He had seen her like this before, in other lifetimes, in other regressions. Her beauty had always been undeniable. She possessed a refined figure, long legs shaped by disciplined training, and a body neither fragile nor overly soft, but balanced with the strength of a cultivator.
