(Navia P.O.V)

Clorinde thinks she can escape.
It’s really adorable.

The way she tries to stay cold, proper, as if her world hasn’t been turned upside down since we started this… since I started this.

But I know her.
I know when her breathing quickens.
I know the look she gives me when she’s about to give in.
And I know exactly what her flushed cheeks are trying to hide.

Right now, she’s in the library of our temporary residence, reviewing documents with her usual impeccable focus.
One leg crossed over the other, her ponytail flawless, her uniform perfectly fitted. She looks like an old painting—precise and elegant.

And so tempting. Oh boy... I want to just tear it appart, but I can't damage that clothes.

I, of course, finished reading my own material a while ago. But I had another plan.

I approached quietly, barefoot so the carpet wouldn’t give me away, and when I was right behind her… I slipped my arms around her neck, as if wrapping her in a silk ribbon.

“Aren’t you going to greet me, mon amour?”

I whispered near her ear, letting my lips barely brush her cheek.

She tensed instantly.
Perfect.

“Navia…”

She murmured, that tone halfway between a warning and a plea.

“Yes?”

I laughed softly, tracing the line of her collarbone with my fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

“You’re… distracting me.”

“Oh, chérie… that’s exactly what I want to do.”

My hands moved slowly downward, sliding over her shoulders, along the sides of her waist. Her body was rigid, but she didn’t pull away. She never did.

I leaned in closer, my warm breath against her neck.

“Do you know the best part about being on an undercover mission with you?”

I whispered.

She didn’t answer. But her fingers trembled over the papers.

“That I can touch you like this…”

My hands gently circled her waist.

“…and you can’t stop me, because we ‘have to keep up the appearance of being a couple.’”

She swallowed.
Point for me.

I placed a soft kiss just behind her ear—her weak spot. I know it and her body tremble just comfirm it to me once again.
Then, I place another, lower.
And another.
Slowly descending.

“Navia… please…”

More than words, now it sound like a whisper leaving Clorinde's lips.

“Please what?”

I asked, feigning innocence.

“Please don’t stop… or please stop?”

She stood up abruptly and turned around, her face redder than Mondstadt wine.
But she made a mistake: turning so fast pinned her against the table—and I… well, I took advantage of it.

My hands landed on either side of her waist, my face just inches from hers.
Her eyes—that purple that drives me crazy—were begging for… something.
And her breathing… she wasn’t hiding it anymore.

“You can’t do this every time I try to work…”

She murmured.

“And you can’t keep looking at me like that every time I get close, Clorinde.”

Our lips met—slow at first, then more urgent, heavier with everything we left unsaid.
Her hands clutched my shirt, as if she didn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer.

It wasn’t like before—not as fast, not as impulsive.
This time… I took my time.
I made her forget the reports, the rules, the limits.

And when we were finally between the sheets of our bed, the soft light of the lamp illuminating her flushed, breathless, perfect body and face, I leaned down and whispered one last thing, just before kissing her again:

“You can try to resist, Clorinde… but you’ll always end up giving in. Because you want me—just as much as I want you.”

…

When morning came, she was tangled in my arms, sleeping deeply, her cheek resting against my chest.

And on her lips—
the faintest, sweetest smile.