"WOULD YOU HELP ME with this?"
Israfel sat on Aya's bed as she stood in front of her cool blue vanity. He had been watching her quietly dress; it brought him some inner male pride to stare at his personal slave and know that all the lush curves he saw belonged to him, and only he. Fuck if he cared about the psychology of it. At her soft call, he rose off her bed and stepped behind her in front of the ornate looking-glass.
Picking the necklace she held out back to him, he whispered over her.
"Hold up your hair."
He was so tall the top of his head was beyond the mirror's capture. Aya Naamah came up to his chest, just at his sternum. She loved how enveloping her Lord Master was. As she grasped onto her wealth of dark hair, Rafel drew in lungfuls of her [aurora mist] fragrance and studied the sparkles on her blue-blush nails. He loved this quiet time with his [Bond].
