The hearth fire in the inner sanctum had burned down to a mound of soft, golden embers, casting a gentle, romantic glow across the white mammoth pelts scattered over the ironwood platform.
For a long, quiet stretch of time, neither of them moved. The room was thick with the scent of wild cedar, crushed night-blooming orchids, and the heavy, sweet musk of their shared passion.
Sol lay contentedly with his head buried right between Veylara's full, soft breasts, listening to the deep, steady rhythm of her heart beating beneath her skin, simultaneously breathing in the intoxicating, warm scent of her skin.
Veylara's mind slowly cleared as the lingering haze of her intense climax began to recede.
Having regained enough of her senses to think past the lingering, blissful paralysis in her limbs, she looked down at the dark head resting against her chest.
She reached down, her fingers lightly tapping his shoulder.
