Last night was a blur of many things.
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Eastiel, of course, remembered most of it. Even the wet, skin-on-skin percussion between them. His feline mind cataloged the details. He hadn't engaged in a fruitless, pleasurable battle. No. He was determined to extract strategic data from her pretty little head.
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"Not to your taste, Brother?" Oathran asked mildly, noticing Arkai's faint frown at the cup of date wine a servant had left. The Dragon Lord plucked the cup from Arkai's hand and took a sip.
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"Please… there is a perfectly clean cup available, Elder Brother," Arkai grunted, his attention divided between the distraction and the ongoing interrogation on the bed.
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Oathran just smirked, a flash of white teeth, and turned to refill the cup to the brim. He took another slow sip before carrying it toward the bed, where Eastiel was vigorously pursuing his line of questioning.
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