Julian's quarters had become a cocoon of shared heat, the air thick with the musky scent of arousal—sweat-slicked skin, faint traces of perfume from the lingerie, and the earthy sweetness of their combined releases.
The dim amber lights cast long shadows across their bodies, highlighting every curve, every flush of skin, every subtle tremor. Soft breaths and whimpers filled the space, mingling with the rustle of sheets and the wet, rhythmic sounds of flesh meeting flesh.
Fey lay beneath Julian now, her body arching like a bowstring drawn tight, legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her with slow, deliberate power. Each deep stroke dragged along her sensitive walls, the friction sending sparks of pleasure up her spine—warm, electric pulses that made her toes curl and her breath hitch in ragged gasps. Her skin was slick against his, breasts pressing flush to his chest with every roll of her hips, nipples hardened peaks rubbing against him like silk over stone.
