For long minutes, there was only the sound of their slowing breaths and the eternal hum of the city, a distant siren, the rumble of a late-night train, the whisper of the wind over tar and gravel. His large hands rested on her bare thighs, his thumbs tracing idle, possessive circles on her skin, now sticky with a mixture of their sweat and the evidence of his release seeping from her. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice a quiet rumble in his chest against her ear. “Name’s Kael.” The word landed in the space between them. A gift. A token. A piece of him was offered in the wreckage. “Elara,” she whispered back, the sound fragile. He nodded slowly, his chin brushing her hair. As if filing it away. Locking it down. His Elara. One of his hands slid from her thigh, moving between their bodies. His fingers, calloused and knowing, found her clit, still swollen and hypersensitive from the brutal attention. He touched her, not with the ruthless efficiency of before, but with a slow,
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