Red dust swirls over stone, sharp against the hardness beneath me. I awaken on a slab, wearing only a thin robe, my body stiff and sore. My eyes adjust to the sun’s glare, slicing through the haze of dust. Sitting up, I watch as the red dust clears, like the center of a storm parting.

I look around, seeing towering stone monoliths and a rock formation with a dark, narrow slit marking the entrance to a cave. In front of each monolith and at the cave’s mouth stand robed figures, draped in deep red garments. The air smells faintly of cinnamon, and sweat begins to bead on my skin.

The figure in front of the cave moves forward, stopping just out of reach. Her robe shimmers with intricate golden patterns woven across the fabric. Slowly, she pulls back her hood, revealing a striking bronze face with high cheekbones, thick eyebrows, and cascading dark hair. Gold earrings glint as she lets her hair fall free.

“You don’t remember who you are or why you’re here,” she says, her voice commanding, with an accent unfamiliar to me. “I will help you remember.”

Confused, I try to stand, but several of the robed figures raise their hands, gently urging me back down. “What…?”

The woman in front waves her hand, and suddenly I’m flooded with memories: tilling soil, farming crops, laughing with my family by a fire…serving as a priest. I sit up more carefully this time, my heart pounding. “I am Caleb, from Havynn. I came here as…an offering. I chose this.”

“Yes, you chose to be here. You can still choose to leave,” she says, her dark eyes calm but piercing.

“I’m not sure…” I look down at my hands, then back up at her.

“We are the Guardians between worlds,” she says.

“Guardians or not, while you’re…quite captivating, I think I’d rather return home.”

Without a word, she lets her robe slip from her shoulders, the garment pooling around her feet. My breath catches as her body is revealed—bronzed skin glistening in the sun, firm and perfect, her form radiant and unapologetically bare.

“Oh…” I stammer, unsure what to expect.

“Reveal yourself,” she commands.

I hesitate, but suddenly my own robe slides off, the hands of the surrounding figures motioning it away. The woman smiles, her gaze drifting over my body, lingering.

She steps forward, climbing onto the slab beside me, her body close but not touching. The cinnamon scent grows stronger, mingling with the desert heat. Her fingertip traces along my collarbone, trailing down toward my navel, her eyes meeting mine as she smiles.

I glance down as I feel myself respond to her, my arousal growing. Her faint touches create an electric tension, drawing every nerve awake.

She circles me, her fingertips grazing my back, lingering over my skin. When she comes back around, she kneels, her gaze never leaving mine as she takes hold of me, her fingers tracing slowly, testing me, my cock dripping with each stroke. She kneels and places her mouth below my member, her eyes glinting, catching each drop as it forms.

A small moan escapes me. A part of me resists, wanting to hold back, but I am helpless under her gaze, her mouth, the feeling of her lips warm against me, tasting, teasing.

She pulls back my foreskin, her eyes holding mine as her tongue flicks over the tip. I close my eyes, instinctively wanting to thrust, to let myself go, but I am rooted in place, held by something beyond my control. I watch as she works along my length, her tongue following every ridge, every full vein, her fingers grazing my stomach and lower, leaving my skin alight with goosebumps.

Without warning, I am on my knees. The robed figures around us place cushions as the woman lies back, spreading her legs. I crawl forward, drawn to her. Her hands guide me down, my lips brushing her thigh, tasting her, the source of the cinnamon aroma filling my senses.

I bring my tongue to hover over her clit, watching as she parts herself, revealing her warmth, pink against bronze. I lower myself to taste, connecting us with a single, soft touch, feeling her respond beneath me. Her breath hitches, her back arching as I explore, tasting deeper.

Her hands find mine, pulling me up, our mouths meeting. I am dripping more now, fully hard, my need obvious. My eyes meet hers as I poise myself over her, feeling the pressure of her hands on my back, guiding me.

The head of my cock kisses her opening. I press forward, entering her slowly, feeling every inch as our bodies intertwine. Her muscles clench, drawing me deeper, our movements finding a rhythm that grows more urgent, more consuming. She holds my gaze, her smile wicked as she matches my pace, coaxing me further.

When she sits up, following me, I shift to hold her, gripping her, my hand on her back, hers tracing down mine as our bodies meet in rhythmic urgency. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, her breath growing more ragged, our mouths meeting between pulses of pleasure.

Suddenly, she convulses, her body shuddering as warmth floods between us. The scent of cinnamon, her musk, fills my senses as I feel my own climax rise, starting as a glow beneath my skin, spreading along my length as I thrust deeper, each pulse filling her, our eyes locked, breath mingling.

Finally, we collapse together, panting, her head resting on my shoulder. I trace her skin lightly, feeling the last tingling remnants of our union.

Sleep comes over me, and when I open my eyes, I am back in my straw bed, a faint scent of cinnamon lingering in the air, mingling with the fading memory of the Guardians.