The training resumed, but my mind was still a storm of conflicting thoughts. Each punch I threw at Daemon felt heavier, not because of the physical strain but because of the weight of what had just happened.
That awkward kiss between us—something that wasn't supposed to happen. I could still feel the imprint of his lips on mine, a phantom sensation that lingered and tugged at my focus.
I forced myself to push through it, to concentrate on my movements. But it was hard. Every time Daemon stepped closer, his proximity sent a surge of warmth through me, distracting me from the task at hand.
Even his masculine scent filled my senses—it strong, domineeringly masculine, and so intoxicating that it made me uneasy. It was too attractive for me too simply ignore that I felt like all about him
