Kate lay draped over the chaise lounge like a discarded silk scarf. Her body wasn't just humming; it felt like a plucked string, every single nerve ending still alive and tingling, vibrating with the echoes of hours upon hours of relentless pleasure.
The room was quiet now. Eerily quiet. The only sounds were Alaric's steady, even breathing from somewhere near the bedchamber door, and the oblivious, sawing-log snores of her husband, King Reginald, from the massive bed.
She felt... wrecked. Utterly, completely wrecked. Like a ship that had been dashed against the rocks in a storm.
And yet... she also felt alive. More alive than she had felt in years. Maybe ever. The exhaustion was profound, bone-deep, but beneath it was a strange, thrilling energy, a current running just under her skin.
