Isolde and Ariana were still sprawled across the mattress, tangled in a chaotic mess of sheets and limbs.
It was, frankly, a sight that would stop any man's heart.
Isolde lay on her stomach, the sheet kicked down to her ankles. Her nightgown had ridden up completely, leaving her bare ass exposed to the cool air—round, pale, and marked with a faint red handprint on the left cheek from last night. One arm hung off the side of the bed, while her face was buried in the pillow, silver hair fanning out like a silk river.
Ariana was curled against her, using Isolde's back as a pillow. Her position was even more compromised. She was on her back, legs splayed wide in a loose M-shape, her sheer chemise bunched up around her chest. Her breasts spilled out over the neckline, rising and falling with soft snores, while her lower half was completely bare, revealing the soft curve of her thighs and the sensitive skin that was still slightly flushed pink.
