The East Wing

The thunderstorm raged outside the floor-to-ceiling glass of the rotunda, but inside, the only sound was the heavy, ragged breathing of two people whose long-guarded defenses had completely surrendered. Kael's hands were everywhere—tracing the delicate curve of Lila's waist, mapping the dip of her spine, peeling her cotton shirt over her head with reverence. In the flickering golden candlelight, her porcelain skin glowed like warm marble, her hazel eyes dilated…