Dawn spilled over their naked bodies. The morning was cold, dew shimmered on the grass. The sun slowly began to warm their skin. They lay entangled, sticky from the night, bodies slick with sweat and the remnants of their closeness. Their breaths were heavy, and Alex still bore scratch marks down his back from Lyra's nails.
Next to him lay Lyra. Her chest rose and fell slowly. Alex watched her without shame, with something that could be called tenderness—if he knew how to name it. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her breast. For a moment, his tongue wandered over her skin, searching for her scent and the taste of salt. Lyra stirred slightly and smiled in her sleep.
"I'm cold," she murmured, stretching lazily. She looked into his eyes for a moment. "Something hard is poking between my legs. Do something about it."
