The balcony's mist thickened, a bridal veil for the damned, as Aiden's spend oozed from Amber's ruined arse—a slow, creamy rivulet tracing her freckled thighs, pooling viscous on the gargoyle-flanked slate.
Her body trembled in his arms, full breasts pressed to his chest, nipples still peaked and raw from stone-kissed torment, her green eyes half-lidded in the haze of afterglow turned hunger.
"Aiden...why? Why does my body only responds to you, why does my heart responds to you, leaving no place for my God."
The wind clawed sharper, gusts flecked with harbor brine and the faint, sulfurous reek of distant forges—midnight's forge, where empires were hammered from bone and betrayal.
Aiden's cock, slick with her essence and his own, hung heavy between them, twitching insistent, the incubus pulse in his veins unquenched, demanding more altars, more offerings.
"Cause, I own you amber. You were mine the moment I took you in that church..."
