She released his hand only to shut the door behind them, the latch falling with a finality that sent a shiver racing down Aragon's spine.
The look in her eyes made his blood run wild. She was the huntress of his pleasure, and he was her willing prey, ready to surrender to the darkness that awaited within the luxurious confines of her chamber.
The space enveloped them, warm and dim, lit by a single hearth where flames danced lazily, casting golden flickers across the walls.
Freja turned to him then, her back against the door, and let her gaze roam over him like a predator sizing up its prize.
Aragon stood tall and unyielding, his hair tousled from the night's exertions, his tunic clinging to the hard planes of his chest.
"You think you can tease me with scraps, boy?"
Freja murmured, stepping forward until the heat of her body pressed against his. Her perfume enveloped him, jasmine crushed underfoot in a sunlit garden, laced with something darker, like earth after rain.
