The first pale light of dawn slipped through the tall windows of Egon's new study-turned-bedroom, painting long golden stripes across the rumpled sheets.
Egon woke slowly, body heavy with the pleasant ache of overuse. Noella lay curled against his side, dark hair spreading across his chest, one leg draped possessively over his thigh.
Her breathing was deep and even, face still flushed from the night's excesses, faint bite marks and fingerprints visible on the pale column of her throat and the curve of her hips.
She looked utterly spent, yet peaceful in a way that tugged at something unfamiliar inside his ribcage.
He studied her for a long moment, then carefully extricated himself without waking her.
His muscles protested as he stood. Every deep thrust, every grinding roll, every time he had pinned her down and taken her until she sobbed his name had left its mark.
