"Oh, that was days ago. Get over it." Luna rolled her eyes and smacked Damien's bare chest lightly—though her touch lingered longer than necessary, fingers grazing warm skin as though they didn't want to leave. Her tone was flippant, but the soft curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.
Damien grinned lazily, propping his head up on one hand while the other reached for her again, a low, sleepy magnetism drawing her closer. "Come on," she urged. "It's still early. You can make it to your castle, get changed, and head to the Royal Empire, even if for just a few hours."
He let out a dramatic sigh, as if the idea of clothes and politics was a direct attack on his soul. "Right…" He tugged her forward instead, his arm sliding around her waist until she collapsed onto his chest, landing with a soft huff and a muffled laugh. "I never got to ask…" he murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. "Was it good for you?"
