The room still held the scent of them salt, sex, the faint perfume of sweat and the thicker, primal musk of release. The heavy velvet drapes were drawn, but the morning sunlight was insistent, bleeding gold through the edges and lining the monumental bed in a soft, warm haze. The sheets were a battlefield of tangled silk, soaked in the evidence of her complete and utter surrender. And there, on the edge of that massive bed, Ranjeet sat, his chest heaving, the sculpted lines of his body still glistening, his breathing a deep, ragged rhythm that filled the silence.

He looked down at Priya.