She was not unconscious.
She wanted to be clear about that, internally, to herself, in the private court of her own dignity.
She was simply — lying down. With her legs open. Because closing them required a muscle group that had filed a formal complaint approximately three hours ago and had not returned to active duty since.
Her body moved up and down with each breath — shallow, the petite breasts rising and falling in the slow rhythm of something that has been thoroughly used and is now running on maintenance power only. The nipples, still flushed, caught the garden's lantern light on each rise and released it on each fall.
Her eyes were rolled at a comfortable forty-five degree angle toward the inside of her own skull.
This was fine.
This was a choice.
PAH.
"Nnh~—"
PAH.
"Mnh—"
He was giving her the last few.
