Alaric eased back onto the wide, stone bench tucked beneath the blossoming vines of Salviana's garden, pulling her gently with him until she settled across his lap.
The flowers swayed lightly in the evening breeze, the faint hum of the sound barrier still surrounding them, keeping the world locked out.
"Come here, fiery wife," he murmured, voice still gravelly from earlier, his hands already sliding to her waist as if she belonged there—because to him, she did.
Salviana, still flushed and trying to compose herself, shot him a soft glare as she adjusted on his lap, but her body betrayed her, melting into him with ease. "You're insatiable," she whispered, though the corner of her lips lifted slightly.
"Only with you," Alaric replied simply, his thumb brushing over her hip in slow, possessive circles.
She sighed, leaning into his chest, and for a moment they just sat there, breathing each other in.
