Aldric locked eyes with her, a mischievous glint dancing in his gaze. "I couldn’t care less about your condition," he remarked, his tone laced with playful daring, "as long as you keep those hands on me."

Islinda’s pulse quickened, a throbbing sensation building between her knees. She realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was in for trouble yet again. When had she ever learned her lesson about being around Aldric? And in such an intimate setting as a washroom, no less? She must truly be a glutton for punishment.

"Fine," she managed, struggling to steady her breath, "I’ll do my best to maintain professionalism in... touching—" Her words trailed off as Aldric casually stripped down to his underwear, leaving little to the imagination.

"Father of all Faes," Islinda murmured, swallowing hard as she drank in the sight before her, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath. If the gods had any mercy, they’d intervene because Aldric was surely going to be the death of her.

Her eyes traced the intricate runes adorning his chest and back, the lines seeming to writhe with a life of their own, stopping just shy of his neck. She couldn’t help but wonder about their significance and if Aldric could decipher their secrets. Her throat constricted as she followed the contours of his toned abdomen, her gaze lingering where they disappeared beneath his underwear, her mouth suddenly dry.

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