The room was thick with the heavy scent of sex, sweat, and smoldering incense. Embers glowed faintly in the ritual pit, casting warm, flickering light across their entangled bodies. Sol lay on his back on the woven mat, his cock still half-hard and glistening with their combined fluids.
His chest rose and fell in slow, heavy breaths. He was still half-spent, basking in the rare moment of peace after the intense rounds they had just shared. His eyes were half-closed, a lazy, satisfied smirk resting on his lips as he gently traced idle patterns along the curve of her hip.
Zephyra also rested beside him, her mature curves pressed warmly against his side, silver-white eyes half-lidded in lazy satisfaction.
He had expected her to stay like this for a while… soft, pliant, and recovering from how thoroughly he had just ruined her.
But he was wrong, the High Shaman was far from done.
