Dinner passed in a blur—food he didn't even fully taste, conversation he only half-listened to. His thoughts were already drifting toward what came after the meal. Toward what he had already come to think of as his rounds.
By the time the moon rose fully, Riley was no longer alone.
The soft creak of a wooden door.
The rustle of silk robes falling to the floor.
The breathy sigh of a woman leaning in, baring her neck like a flower unfolding in the night.
"Ahhh…"
"Ohhh…"
"Ughhh…"
The walls of the summit, as always, could not contain the pleasure that echoed within. The air itself seemed to shimmer with warmth, with need, with indulgence. He didn't rush. Riley took his time with each woman, touching, teasing, and claiming, as if reminding them—and perhaps even himself—that this life he lived was real.
