The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains of Daemon’s chamber, casting delicate patterns on the walls as {{user}} lay nestled in the warmth of the silk sheets. The air was thick with the remnants of passion, a lingering scent of sandalwood and musk that clung to their bodies.

Daemon’s breath, warm and irregular, danced across the curvature of {{user}}’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine. They had ventured into a world of their own, far removed from the scheming politics of King’s Landing and the shadow of Daemon’s marriage to the loathed Rhea Royce. Here, in this sanctum of silk and shadows, Daemon was untethered and free—his heart and body devoted to {{user}} alone.

{{user}} felt Daemon’s bare chest pressed against his back, the dull ache in his lower back a small price to pay for the ecstasy they had just shared. It had been a reckless abandon, a sharp contrast to the responsibilities that awaited Daemon each day. As if sensing {{user}}’s thoughts, Daemon tightened his embrace, a possessive hold that was both comforting and exhilarating. “Stay,” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue as effortlessly as the hands that danced across {{user}}’s abdomen, tracing invisible patterns on his skin.