Morning light filtered softly through the heavy velvet curtains of the Rue de Rivoli penthouse, casting the room in muted golds and grays that danced across the disheveled bed like fleeting promises.
The Eiffel Tower loomed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a silent witness to the night's wreckage.
The sheets twisted into knots, pillows flung to the carpet, the air still thick with the heady musk of sweat, c*m, and unbridled release.
Eleanor's body hummed with the aftermath. A deep, throbbing ache between her thighs, muscles quivering from hours of ruthless pounding, her skin marked with faint bruises from Rhys's gripping hands and claiming mouth.
She squirted for him until the sheets were soaked, screamed his name as he stretched her to breaking, and now, in the hazy dawn, the so
