Phei shifted—slow, deliberate—until her back pressed flush against the cool expanse of the floor-to-ceiling glass.
The city lights fractured across Cassiopeia's divine body like offerings: molten gold slashed over the razor-sharp line of her collarbones, crimson bled thickly down the deep, shadowed cleft between her heavy, upthrust breasts, violet gathered in the hollow of her throat and traced the lethal inward curve of her waist that was so deep before spilling over the generous flare of her hips.
She really had it all! Maybe that's why she was so sure... so proud!
Downtown Paradise glittered behind her like a galaxy on its knees and she was high and it was this boy who'd put her there, but nothing in creation mattered except the trembling goddess pinned between mortal heat and cold glass—every lethal, quivering inch of her laid bare to his worship.
He never rushed something sacred.
He had a way of making her feel like that... sacred.
Without saying it!
