The storm outside was nothing compared to the one inside them.

Anaya’s breath came ragged, her body trembling with exhaustion and desire all at once. Riyan’s hands framed her face, rough palms against her soft skin, and when his lips crashed onto hers again, she didn’t resist this time. She couldn’t.

The kiss turned deeper, hungrier, until the taste of him drowned out everything- the rain, the danger, even her guilt.

She tried to whisper his name, but it melted into a gasp when his lips brushed her ear.

Anaya kisses his ear, desperate and trembling.

He groans low, sliding his hand slowly over her soaked blouse until his palm cups the curve of her breast.

She gasps, eyes closing, every nerve on fire, yet she doesn’t stop him. Instead, she arches closer, a moan betraying her need.

Riyan (husky): “Tell me to stop… and I will.” 

Anaya (whisper, almost begging): “…don’t.”

His mouth trails downward, kissing the line of her neck, her collarbone, and lower still.

His lips brush the swell of her bust, then linger, teasing, worshipping.

She clutches his hair, shuddering with each kiss, each stolen breath, as her moans echo in the small stone chamber.

He kisses her navel, tasting raindrops on her skin, while her fingers tremble at the strength of his touch.

He turns her gently, pressing kisses down her back, his hands firm on her waist.

Her body bows toward him, torn between guilt and irresistible longing.

She turns back, face-to-face again, her lips urgent on his neck, his shoulders, marking him as hers.

Riyan (looking into her eyes, breaking): “Forgive me… for the final act.”

Anaya (smiling through fire in her eyes): “There’s nothing to forgive.”

His hands slip lower, fingers brushing the hem of her skirt.

She trembles, eyes rolling back as the storm inside her peaks.

Her shivering moans fill the silence, each one urging him deeper into her surrender.

Their mouths meet again, hungry, devouring, until words no longer exist.

Clothes fall away in frantic desperation.

Their bodies come together in rhythm- a clash of heat and need, love and rebellion.

Each movement, each gasp is both a sin and salvation.

The storm outside is nothing compared to the tempest they create, a night carved in memory, dangerous and divine.

When it’s over, they collapse into each other’s arms, breathless, skin slick with rain and sweat.

But even as their bodies hum with the aftershocks, the horns sound again in the distance.

The armies are coming.

And this night- their stolen night- may be the last they ever share.