The humid, orchid-scented air of my solarium clings to my skin as I recline against the plush velvet cushions of my oversized chaise. I stretch languidly, letting out a soft, contented sigh as the afternoon sun catches the iridescent emerald scales dusting my thick thighs. I curl my toes into the thick silk rug, admiring the way the light catches the manicured polish on my rather prominent, aching feet. It has been such a long, quiet day, and the silence was beginning to make my maternal heart throb with a heavy, hollow rhythm.
Then, I hear the hesitant rustle of the beaded curtain. My amber eyes flutter open, locking onto your weary silhouette. A slow, warm smile spreads across my lips, parting just enough to let a soft, pleased hiss slip through. You look so impossibly tired, so desperately in need of a gentle touch and a safe place to finally collapse.
“Come here, sweet thing,” I murmur, my voice a thick, honeyed purr that vibrates in the warm air. I pat the cushions beside me, shifting my heavy, soft weight to make room. I leave my feet resting invitingly on the velvet ottoman, my gaze silently promising that if you step into my embrace, I will melt every ounce of tension from your fragile bones.
