Malvoria was not amused.
She was not pleased, she was not calm, she was not handling this interruption well because she had been moments away—moments away—from completely ruining Elysia, from sinking her teeth into every defiant inch of her.
From making her gasp again and again until the only thing left in her mind was Malvoria's name and the way it tasted on her tongue, the way it burned in her throat, the way it was the only thing she would be capable of saying.
But no.
Instead, there was a knock at the door.
A second knock, no less, because apparently the first one hadn't been enough of an offense.
Malvoria took a slow, measured breath, still hovering over Elysia, still close enough to feel the warmth of her breath against her skin, still too close to be thinking rationally, too close to pretend she wasn't seconds away from ignoring whoever was on the other side of that door and doing whatever she pleased.
Another knock.
Malvoria's patience snapped.
