A few hours later, Morgana's office was empty, the corridor lights had been dimmed, and almost the entire mansion finally seemed to have accepted that no other emergency was waiting to appear before dawn. Damon was supposed to be resting in his own room, following Ester's instructions and avoiding any unnecessary exertion. Instead, he was inside Morgana's bedroom, one hand locked around her waist and his mouth far too occupied to offer any convincing excuse.
Morgana stood pressed against the closed door, her fingers buried in his white hair while Damon kissed her with a controlled urgency, very different from the way he used to act before that month. The desire, provocation, and usual shamelessness were still there, but so was caution. He did not press his injured arm against the wood, made no sudden movements, and paused for brief moments whenever her breathing changed, as though confirming that she truly wanted to continue.
She did.
