The room was still heavy with warmth and the faint scent of musk and sex. Dorian lay on his back, his chest rising and falling slowly, while Lysara's hair spilled over his shoulder like brown silk. Their breaths mingled as they came down from the high that had consumed them moments ago.
Her fingers traced lazy circles over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her touch. Dorian caught her hand, pressing a slow kiss to her wrist before letting out a quiet laugh. "You'll have me late for drills again," he said, his voice low and hoarse.
"Then you should blame yourself," Lysara teased, her tone light but her smile softer than she meant it to be. "You're the one who begged for mercy first."
Dorian's cheeks flushed, and he looked away quickly, pretending to reach for the sheets. "That's not—"
She leaned in, brushing her lips against his jaw. "It's exactly what happened," she whispered.
