Comfort

Noelle's body hummed with a quiet, lingering satisfaction, the weight of their earlier passion still heavy in the air. As he lay there, wrapped in the warmth of the bed and the scent of Thorne's lingering pheromones, he found himself unable to look away from the man beside him.

Thorne's face, softened in the afterglow, was a stark contrast to the commanding presence he held in public. His sharp features seemed gentler now, the lines of tension usually carved into his brow smoothed away. His blond hair, still damp from sweat, clung messily to his forehead, framing him in an almost ethereal light. Noelle's chest tightened at the sight. He looked younger, almost innocent in the quiet stillness of the room, a far cry from the fearsome general everyone else knew. But to Noelle, he was always more than that.