Amber firelight danced across the bronze brazier inside the warded pavilion, wrapping the fur-draped couch in a haze of warm spirit-sandalwood smoke.
Sitting sideways across Alaric Steele's muscular lap, Noble Consort Cui Yulan let out a hot, shaky breath as his hands moved with shameless authority over her bare flesh.
Her pale-violet silk gown hung wide open from her shoulders to her hips. In the warm glow of the coals, her voluptuous body was a breathtaking sight—fair skin flushed a delicate rose-pink, a remarkably thin, supple waist, wide fertile hips, and a pair of massive, heavy breasts that spilled over Alaric Steele's large palms like twin mounds of warm snow.
