The silk sheets they had pulled over themselves were as soft as summer clouds. Jasmine let herself collapse into her husband's arms, her cheek pressing against the rough expanse of his chest. She leaned her ear directly over his ribs, listening to the steady, rhythmic booming of his heart.
She would have expected it to sound massive, violent, and thunderous, entirely appropriate for a warlord who could play the part of a merciless demon to his enemies. Instead, in the quiet of their solar, it was a remarkably soft, gentle thing. It sounded like a sleepy child rhythmically clapping his hands.
Alpheo's large, calloused hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb lazily caressing the high curve of her cheekbone. It was a familiar ritual, but it never failed to warm her heart; even after the frantic heat of their lovemaking had passed, she still held her husband's absolute attention and affection.
