"Haaa… haaa…" their breaths mingled in the heavy air, slow and ragged, like twin storms settling after the clash. Sylvaris lay atop Aureve's half-naked frame, her curves pressed into the shallow black water beneath them, droplets clinging to her skin like dew on silk. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, her fire dimmed but not extinguished, and their eyes—locked—held no more lies.
She shifted slightly, wrists pulling against his grip, but he held her down easily, his manly strength pressing her into place, not cruelly, but decisively, and that was the truth of it—no matter how skilled a woman was in battle, once a man like him pinned them, it was over. There was a difference between power and dominance, and she was learning it firsthand now. She was a warrior. But beneath him, she had become something else entirely.
