His breathing is labored in the stillness as he glanced over towards her. A thin sheen of sweat on his body as he laid back with arms outstretched, the cold biting. The smile on his face was triumphant. The sensation of silk over her skin on his fingertips and lips was slow to fade and he cherished it while he could.

Oh, it had certainly been glorious. Hearing her ragged, unsteady breathing next to him, Ishamael was aware of one thing for certain. This had not been her victory, far from it. The seeds and thoughts and feelings planted in her brain would serve him far better than a wet spasm of pleasure.

He smiled.

(I win again.)