I stood in the shadowed heart of my chamber, the heavy velvet curtains drawn like a lover's shroud against the inky night beyond. Enchanted candles sputtered with ethereal blue flames, their flickering light weaving golden shadows that caressed the opulent tapestries and gilded furnishings.
My sheer silk robe clung precariously to my shoulders, whispering against my flushed skin; it barely veiled the lush curves of my body—my heavy breasts swelling against the gossamer fabric, nipples peeking into taut, aching buds at the mere whisper of what was to come.
Henrik knelt before me, his colossal, battle-scarred frame humbled upon the lush, intricate rugs woven with threads of ancient magic.
Earlier, at my imperious command, he'd stripped away his gleaming armour piece by piece, leaving him in nothing but threadbare undergarments—coarse linen that strained obscenely over the rigid, thickening outline of his cock, pulsing with restrained fury.
