Warm light filtered in through the narrow windows, casting soft golden patterns over the stone walls. The fire had died down to embers, but the heat between them clung like a second skin. Aylin stirred faintly against Sasha's chest, still breathless, her legs tangled with his, their bodies slick with the remnants of their lovemaking.
He didn't rush her. Didn't speak.
His fingers traced circles along her spine, slow and patient, as if etching her into his memory.
But after a few more minutes, he shifted. Carefully.
"Come," he murmured against her temple. "Let me take care of you."
