Malvoria hands slid down, slowly, deliberately, wrapping around the fabric of Elysia's gown.
The grip tightened, a mere whisper of pressure—firm, yet controlled, almost gentle.
And then—
Without warning, she tore it.
The fabric shredded with a faint rip, Elysia's cry of surprise muffled as the sound of it cut through the room. The motion was smooth, practiced, a violent delicacy that left Elysia staring in shock.
The gown fell away from her chest, pooling around her in a wave of silken white, her shoulders and collarbone now bared in the candlelight. Her eyes widened, her chest heaving as she stared at Malvoria.
But there was no fear there.
Not yet.
Malvoria's smirk widened, her hand sliding up Elysia's thigh to rest just at the edge of her panties. Her fingers traced the seam, a slow caress that sent a shiver through Elysia's body.
"Will you beg?" she whispered, her breath hot against Elysia's skin.
Elysia frowned, her expression uncertain.
