The Room of Mirrors held its breath. A thousand reflections of Kabir’s powerful, naked form moved in the periphery of Amber’s vision, a legion of dominants all focused on her with the same predatory, adoring intensity. She lay bare before him on the black marble dais, the ruby silk sheets cool against her oiled and heated skin. The echoes of her desperate cries, released when he finally unbound her breasts, still seemed to shimmer in the air, mixing with the soft, ever-present chime of the silver bell that now lay discarded with the golden harness on the floor.

Her breasts, so recently drained of their aching fullness, still felt sensitive and heavy, the nipples dark and furled in the cool air of the chamber. Her body was a landscape of his devotion and his control. The rose gold plug was still a solid, unyielding presence deep within her ass, a constant, grounding reminder that he owned every part of her. And her pussy, her untouched, sacred, virgin pussy, was a furnace of wet, clenching need, weeping a steady stream of arousal that slicked her inner thighs and stained the silk beneath her.