"Aaaahhhh…"
The flush on Arkai's skin deepened with each passing moment. Not the ruddy, unhealthy red of fever, but something richer, darker, spreading from his chest up his neck to stain his cheeks like wine spilling across white linen.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickled down his temples, caught in the hollow of his throat where his collar hung open.
His eyes, when they weren't rolling back in his head, were glazed, half-lidded and heavy, pupils blown wide. His brows drew together in a constant, helpless furrow, caught between pain and pleasure and something that looked almost like wonder.
Lips, usually pressed into that stern, presidential line, were parted now, soft, wet, trembling with each exhale. A thin thread of saliva escaped the corner of his mouth, unnoticed, as his head lolled back against the sofa cushion.
His chest heaved beneath the wet fabric of his uniform. Each breath was a battle, each exhale a moan he couldn't quite suppress.
