They never meant to let it go this far.

At first, it was just a kiss. A slip. A single sin ignited in a moment of weakness.

But now, it’s a ritual.

Mara is drunk on him—the way his hands tremble when they trace the outline of her hips, the way his voice fractures when he breathes her name like a sacred curse. She craves the crack in his composure, the flicker of fire in a man sworn to water. The more he tries to drown it, the more it burns.

She’s high on the scent of him lingering ...