The buttons of Aria's blouse felt like ice against her trembling fingertips.
Beneath her, Damien was no longer the composed, terrifying King of the Capital. He was a raw nerve, his body arching off the leather sofa in spasms of agony. His shirt was already torn open, revealing a chest slick with cold sweat, the muscles coiled so tight they looked like they might snap the bone.
"Hurry," he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut, his head thrashing against the cushion. "It feels like... burning. Everywhere."
Aria didn't hesitate anymore. She pushed aside the last shred of her hesitation—and her modesty.
'He's a patient,' she told herself fiercely. 'Just a patient. This is just a very... unorthodox defibrillation.'
She undid the final button. She didn't take the blouse off completely, but she pulled it open, exposing the skin of her chest and stomach.
She lowered herself onto him.
The moment their skin connected, a shockwave went through the room.
