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She doesn’t belong in that world.

She belongs here.

I pull myself together slowly, brushing her hair from her face as she stares up at me, dazed and glowing and mine.

“I’m obsessed with you too,” she whispers, voice rough and full of meaning. “I think I already was before I even touched you.”

That tears right through me.

I kiss her—gentle this time, slow, reverent. My lips linger on hers as I breathe her in, grounding myself in this moment. Her hands find their way to my chest, stroking softly over my heart like she knows what I’m not saying.

Eventually, I ease out of her with a low groan, careful and slow, already missing the warmth of her body wrapped around me.

“I’ll be right back,” I murmur, kissing her cheek before slipping out of bed.

I head to the bathroom, grab a warm cloth, and return. She’s lying there, flushed and open and stunning, and when I kneel between her thighs to clean her up, I pause.

My seed is glistening on her skin, trailing down the insides of her thighs, and I can’t help it—I stare.

“You have no idea how good you look like this,” I say, my voice thick, reverent. “With my come on your thighs.”

Her breath catches, and her gaze darkens instantly.

She likes it.

I watch her body react—nipples tightening, thighs twitching, cheeks flushing deeper. She doesn’t even try to hide it.

“Noted,” I murmur with a smirk, running the warm cloth gently along her skin, taking my time, loving every second of her like this—wrecked, blissed out, mine.

Still sensitive, still wrecked—but her body is already responding to me.

I smile, leaning over her, brushing my mouth along her collarbone as I whisper, “You like when I tell you what I see, don’t you?”

She nods, biting her lip, and I see her eyes flutter closed like she’s too far gone to pretend otherwise.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” I say softly. “Open. Used. Still needing more.”

Her breath stutters.

I drop the cloth gently beside the bed and slide my fingers down her stomach, teasing just above her mound.

“You want to come again?” I ask gently, not teasing now—just asking. Offering.

“I don’t know if I can,” she breathes, already trembling.

“I think you can,” I whisper, brushing my knuckles lightly over her clit. “And I want to give it to you. Let me.”

She lets out the softest whimper, then nods.

That’s all I need.

I stroke her slowly—just my fingers this time—gentle, controlled, circling her swollen clit with featherlight pressure. She gasps, body twitching, still sensitive but craving the sensation.

“It’s okay,” I murmur. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

She grabs my forearm, her fingers digging in, but she doesn’t stop me. Her hips begin to move with my hand, chasing it, needing it. Her thighs tremble, her lips parting with every shaky breath.

I slip a finger inside her, just one, curling it ever so slightly as I keep my thumb circling her clit in a slow, steady rhythm.