Ethan's eyelashes, golden like the strands of his hair, fluttered for a brief moment.
His body throbbed with a dull ache, every muscle protesting even the slightest movement, while his mind drifted through a thick fog that refused to lift.
Slowly, he forced his eyelids open.
He was in his tent—that much was obvious from the familiar scent—but he could barely make out the canvas ceiling above him.
His head rested on Amelia's soft thighs, the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin fabric of her dress, the plush flesh cradling the back of his neck like a squishy pillow.
From that angle, her huge tits almost completely blocked his field of vision—two massive, proud mounds rising above his face like pale moons about to collide with the sky itself.
For a moment, he simply remained silent, letting his eyelids drift closed again on their own.
His body had almost fully recovered, but the residual pain was still terrible.
