The air in the room remained heavy and humid, a thick, aromatic haze of sandalwood and the pungent, salt-sweet scent of their combined releases. The amber light of the candle flickered, casting undulating shadows that danced across the ceiling, echoing the rhythmic pulse of the silence that had followed their first peak. Mirae lay completely undone on the massage table, her body limp, her skin flushed a deep, radiant rose. She was in a state of sensory overload, her mind drifting in a blissful, floating void.
The sharp, stabbing pain of her headache had vanished, replaced by a heavy, languid warmth that made her feel as if she were submerged in a warm bath. She was light-headed, her consciousness blurring at the edges, her breathing coming in slow, shallow sips of air. She felt an immense sense of vulnerability, but it was a vulnerability she craved—the feeling of being entirely open and exposed to the man who held her heart and her body in his hands.
