The bedroom was quiet except for the ocean's distant rhythm—waves rolling, crashing, retreating. Dawn light bled through sheer curtains, painting everything gold and soft.
I wrapped my arm around her waist from behind, pulling her sweat-slick body flush against my chest, her back curving into me like a perfect mold. The sheets tangled around our legs, damp and heavy with the scent of sex-cum-musk still clinging to the air.
Her ass nestled against my groin, soft and warm, her breathing slow and deep as the city lights flickered through the half-open blinds. I buried my face in her hair, inhaling the mix of salt, sweat, and her—my woman now.
My fingers traced lazy circles on her hip. She hummed—content, satisfied, maybe a little smug.
"Thank you," I murmured into her neck, my lips brushing the damp skin. "For helping with the Dmitri situation."
She laughed—soft, throaty, still raw from all the screaming, low and husky, the sound vibrating against my chest.
