ISABEL POV

As I continued with my song, his hands moved from mine, it's warmth lingering on my skin. They traveled up my arms, gently cupping my breasts. His palms were surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to the rough, calloused hands of a warrior.

I continued my rhythmic swaying, my hips moving in a hypnotic dance. The song, the touch, the warmth - it was a symphony of seduction, a silent plea to break through the wall of grief that surrounded him.

Soon, I felt a familiar hardness pressing against me, a tangible reminder of the man beneath the grief. "Yes, baby," I moaned, my voice a purr of desire....