******
The office smelled of dust, cracked leather, and tension, the type that came from heat and lust. The air still vibrated faintly with the residual scent of their romantic escapade.
Amidst the ruins, Magnus Thorn sat with his back against the crumbling wall, legs outstretched, his breathing slowly returning to normal. Astrid Voss lay against him, her head nestled on his bare chest, which still bore the sheen of sweat and the red lines of claw marks, some his, some hers. Her silver hair was tangled across his shoulder, the scent of her still clinging to his senses like smoke after a fire.
His arms wrapped around her instinctively, possessively, pulling her closer. He didn't speak for a while. Neither did she.
Then his voice broke the silence. "This place is a mess."
Astrid let out a dry, tired laugh without lifting her head. "We're a mess."
