SILENT SINS
Elara said in her head.
He did not move at once. He stayed buried, forehead against hers, letting her feel every pulse and inch of him. When he finally began to thrust, the rhythm was slow and deep—long withdrawals that left only the head inside her, then the steady slide forward until their bodies met flush. He watched her face the entire time. One hand braced beside her head; the other stroked her breast, thumb circling the nipple, careful of the fading bruise. The tattoos on his arms flexed with every controlled motion. He was better than Malik and Malik was really good—Raphaël was more patient, more exact, more attuned to the small shifts in her breathing that told him when to angle deep