The evening had been a gentle cascade of laughter and soft conversations, Solomon’s birthday celebration with Simeon and Luke unfolding like a delicate sonnet—warm, refined, and filled with heartfelt moments. Now, the calm after the storm wrapped around him like a familiar cloak as he made his way quietly through the halls of the House of Lamentation, his steps measured and thoughtful. The scent of books and faint traces of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the subtle warmth of the fading day.

He reached his door and, with a practiced ease, pushed it open—ready to retreat into the sanctuary of his room, to lose himself once more in the ordered comfort of his shelves and scrolls.

But the sight that met him stopped his breath.

You were there, lounging across his bed, utterly bare—soft curves draped languidly over his carefully arranged sheets, skin glowing faintly in the warm lamplight. The very air seemed to shimmer around you, charged with something electric and unspoken. Your eyes locked onto his with a wicked glint—bold, teasing, and laced with a promise that twisted the calm into something deliciously dangerous.

Solomon’s heart stuttered, a flush creeping up his neck as his scholarly composure faltered just a fraction. The scholarly calm in his eyes flickered, replaced by a flicker of something far more primal and raw.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smirk—one that carried both delight and the faintest trace of mischief. He stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click, the weight of the moment settling between you like a delicate balance on the edge of a page.

“Well,” he murmured, voice low and smooth like a whispered spell, “it seems the most unexpected gift has found me.”

His gaze traced your form slowly, appreciating the artistry of your pose as if it were a rare manuscript laid bare. Every inch of you was a verse, every glance a stanza in a poem written for his eyes alone.

“You certainly know how to make a birthday unforgettable,” he added, stepping closer, fingers brushing against the bedpost as if grounding himself in the reality of you. “Tell me… what story are you hoping to write tonight?”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Solomon’s eyes searched yours—filled with wonder, desire, and a quiet hunger to explore the uncharted chapters that only this night could hold.