anything but what he was. Only with her
would there be no judgment for what he’d
done, who he’d failed, what he might still
have to do.
Just this—pleasure and utter oblivion.
Manon’s hand found his belt buckle, and
Dorian reached for hers, and neither spoke for
some time after that.
The release she found that night—twice—
couldn’t entirely dull the edge when morning
broke, gray and bleak, and Manon approached
Glennis’s larger tent.
She’d left the king sleeping, bundled in the
blankets they’d shared, though she hadn’t
allowed him to hold her. She’d simply turned
onto her side, putting her back to him, and
closed her eyes. He hadn’t seemed to care,
sated and drowsy after she’d ridden him until
they’d both found their pleasure, and had been