The room smelled of wet earth and incense; rain still tapped a slow rhythm against the window, as if the sky itself listened to what was about to happen. He rose with a sound low and hungry in his throat — not cruel now, but something primeval that belonged to a man who had finally decided he would not wait any longer. He moved with purpose, like a warrior claiming home after a long battle.

He looked at her as if memorizing her — mouth wet with the evidence of his earlier ministrations, eyes dark with a fierce, tender hunger. He wiped the remnants from the back of his hand, a fleeting reminder of the pleasure they had shared. The moment was small and enormous at once: private, irreversible.