The warmth of the hearth filled the room, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls, but Salviana barely registered it.
What stirred her from sleep wasn't the crackling fire but the heat pooling between her thighs—the sensation of warm lips trailing over her skin, a soft yet deliberate pressure that sent a shiver spiraling through her spine.
Her heavy lids fluttered open, her breath catching in her throat as the scene before her became clear. Nestled between her parted thighs, Alaric—her proud, stubborn husband—was lavishing attention on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, his mouth moving in slow, torturous nibbles from one side to the other, inching closer to the aching heat at her center.
A gasp left her lips when his thumbs spread her open, exposing her most intimate place to his hungry gaze.
"Alaric?" she moaned, barely able to form his name.