The first rays of the new day, filtered through the thick, sulfurous haze of the caldera, did little to disturb the profound stillness within the Wyrm's lair. Alaric lay awake, a deep, primal satisfaction humming within his very core. Professor Lilliana Valtor, Archmage, master of elements, was nestled against him, her fiery red hair a stark, beautiful contrast to the dark furs beneath them. She was utterly spent, her body a canvas of his possession, her breathing the deep, even rhythm of a woman pushed far beyond exhaustion and into the blissful oblivion of sleep.
He idly stroked her back, his fingers tracing the elegant line of her spine, enjoying the feel of her warm, soft skin. The night had been… educational. For both of them. He had systematically dismantled her Archmage pride, her centuries of disciplined reserve, and reforged it into a desperate, pleading need for his touch, his cock, his dominance.
