Silas stood over the couch, his shadow stretching long and oppressive across Rose's sleeping form. The amber light of the study had dimmed, leaving the room in a heavy, charcoal twilight that smelled of old leather and the lingering, salty musk of her previous release. He didn't speak at first. He simply watched the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, the way her massive breasts strained against the loose silk of the sarong, shifting with every breath.