The atmosphere within the spacious room sank into a heavy silence, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioner and Dominic Vance's steadying breath. The pungent scent of their encounter, a heavy mixture of sweat, semen, and the faint metallic tang of blood, lingered thickly, suffocating the room.
Dominic lay on his back, one arm draped over his forehead, his firm chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. He cast a sidelong glance. Lucien remained turned away, his body buried deep beneath the thin blanket, so utterly still he seemed to have stopped breathing.
Initially, Dominic felt a faint sense of satisfaction. His long-suppressed desires had been thoroughly quenched, albeit through cruel and violent means. He assumed Lucien was sulking or quietly sobbing as usual. He had mentally prepared himself for curses, or at the very least, to see Lucien's shoulders trembling with resentment.
Yet five minutes passed, then ten, and the figure beside him remained motionless.
