Upon reaching her room, Anastasia closed the door and leaned her back against the wooden surface. She hadn't stopped heaving for air, as she could still feel Prince Dante's hands on her waist, on her neck, his grip on her wrist, and his breath fanning across her skin.
Her cheeks burned brightly, and what the first prince did flooded her mind with double the intensity, like a tempestuous sea storm threatening to engulf a sailing ship, ready to drown it deep under the surface of the water where no light could reach.