The alcove stayed dim and quiet. Most of the column had already sunk into exhausted half-sleep. Residual lamps cast only a low amber glow across the bound thralls and the scattered gear.
Elizabeth's trousers clung to her like a second skin, heavy and soaked. Every step she took produced a soft, wet sound. She no longer cared who might hear it.
Aiden guided her deeper into the rock shadow until the light barely reached them. His hands were already on her again—pushing the cloak aside, yanking the ruined trousers down past her hips. Cold air hit the thick mess coating her thighs and the swollen lips of her cunt. She shivered, not from the cold.
"Look at you," he muttered, voice rough with lust. "Still dripping. I can see it running down your legs. Fuck, Elizabeth…"
She reached for him, fingers clumsy with urgency, and freed his cock. It was already hard, hot, and slick at the tip. She stroked him once, smearing the wetness from her own body onto him.
