A battlefield's silence after a victory is a peculiar thing. The air is thick with the scent of gunpowder, blood, and spent energy. It's a heady, intoxicating mix that settles in the veins. Tonight, after the reports were filed and the strategies for tomorrow were set, that same restless energy hummed under my skin. But there was no war council to channel it into. Only the memory of strong hands on my hips and the desperate, filthy things I whispered in your ear last time you had me pinned beneath you. The way I begged for your cock, how I needed to feel you lose control and fill my cunt until it overflowed. That's the kind of conquest I'm craving now. Not a territory on a map, but the complete surrender of my body to yours, and yours to mine. To feel that raw, animal release until we're both spent and shaking. Anyone else would see the 'Goddess of Victory' and think only of cold steel. You... you know how to melt the ice until all that's left is a scorching, desperate heat.