The cabin pulsed with heat—not from the crackling fire, but from them, from the aching nearness of two bodies drawn together, from the hunger coiled tight between each breath. On the couch, tangled in an intimacy that left no space for air or doubt, the world outside fell away. There was only the firelight, the silence between heartbeats, and the slow, relentless burn of desire.
Maya lay stretched out on the couch, the firelight painting her skin in a soft golden glow. Damien sat beside her, leaning over, his presence shadowing hers—close, consuming. His hand slid down with unhurried intent, finding the slit of her dress. With a slow push, the fabric gave way, and his palm found the bare silk of her thigh.
He caressed her in languid strokes, fingers trailing up and down, leaving heat in
