narcissisticsmokers-blog

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

She’s shaking beneath me, breath hitching, lashes damp, body limp and wrecked in all the ways I wanted. But the second I see her chest rise with a soft, broken sob, everything in me shifts.

I’m still inside her, buried to the hilt, her body fluttering weakly around me. But the dominance fades. The hunger quiets. All that’s left now is her, my girl, undone and vulnerable, trusting me with the pieces.

So I ease out slowly, careful not to hurt her more. She winces, sensitive and sore, and I whisper soft apologies as I lean in and kiss her neck, her cheek, her temple. My hands never stop touching, gentle now, soothing, tracing soft circles over her thighs and ribs, grounding her back in my arms.

“You did so well,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “So fucking good for me. My perfect girl.”

She whimpers again, turning her face into my chest as if hiding from how exposed she feels, but I just hold her tighter. I slide off the bed, grab a warm towel from the bathroom, and come back fast, wiping her down slowly, reverently, until there’s nothing left but the warmth of us.

Then I pull her into my arms, body to body, under the covers, skin to skin. Her head rests against my chest now, tucked beneath my chin like she belongs nowhere else. One of my arms wraps around her back. The other tangles in her hair, stroking slowly, tenderly, while my lips brush her forehead.

She finally speaks, barely a whisper. “I… I couldn’t even think.”

“I know, baby,” I say softly, pressing a kiss to her crown. “You gave me everything. You let go. That takes trust. And I’m so proud of you.”

She exhales shakily, and I feel her body relax into mine like she’s melting into the safety of my hold. Her fingers curl against my chest, not gripping this time, just resting. Needing me close.

I tilt her face up gently with two fingers under her chin and kiss her lips, slow, deep, with no urgency. Just warmth. Just love. Her eyes flutter closed again as I kiss her cheek, her jaw, down to her shoulder.

“I’ve got you now,” I whisper. “You’re safe. You’re home. There’s nothing you have to do, no one you need to be. Just rest.”

Her breathing slows. The tears dry. She’s quiet now, so quiet, and I can feel her slipping into sleep in my arms.

But I’m not done holding her.

“Sleep, baby,” I murmur, brushing her hair back from her face. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Always.”

She hums softly, the tiniest sound of contentment, and presses closer. I tighten my hold just a little more, fitting my body around hers like armor. No one can touch her here. No one ever will.

She falls asleep in my arms.

And I lie there awake, heart full, lips resting against her hair, whispering softly against the quiet:

“You’re mine. Whole or ruined. Always mine.”

She doesn’t know what she’s in for, not yet. Not as I watch her laid out on the bed, flushed and breathless, already undone just from how I look at her. Her legs are parted slightly, not even from confidence but instinct. Her body knows who it belongs to.

I climb onto the bed, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling its prize. My hands slide up the backs of her thighs, firm and claiming, thumbs pressing into soft skin as I push her knees apart further. Her breath catches. She tries to close them again; half shy, half overwhelmed, but I growl low in my chest and force them wider.

“Don’t,” I say, voice sharp and deep as it rumbles from my throat. “Don’t ever hide from me. This is mine. All of it.”

She nods fast, eyes wide. But I’m not looking at her face anymore. I’m looking at the soaked mess between her thighs, glistening and perfect, waiting. My hands grip her hips like I could tear her in half just to bury my face deeper. She’s already shaking.

I lean in and don’t touch her yet. I breathe her in. That smell; sweet, sinful, entirely hers. I murmur into her skin, letting the warmth of my breath ghost across where she’s most sensitive.

“You’re going to break,” I whisper. “You’re going to fall apart so many times tonight, you won’t remember what it feels like to be whole.”

Then I lick her.

One long, unhurried stroke of my tongue from bottom to top, pressing flat and deep. She jolts, a strangled sound bursting from her lips. I smirk and do it again, slower this time, watching her body twitch beneath me like she’s already too much.

My tongue flicks at her clit; barely a touch, and her hips jump. I slap her thigh lightly and growl, “Keep still. You move, I make it worse.”

She whimpers. I drag her hips to the edge of the bed, wrap my arms around her thighs, and bury my face fully. No teasing now. No pacing.

I suck.

Hard, wet, open-mouthed kisses to her folds, tongue circling her clit in tight spirals, then flattening again and again. She moans loud now, thighs trembling under my grip, hands fisting the sheets like she’s drowning and I’m the tide.

“Too much,” she gasps.

“Not even close,” I growl into her, lips slick with her. “You’ll know it’s too much when you beg me to stop and still come all over my tongue.”

I slide two fingers inside her, curling them instantly, and her entire body arches off the bed. My fingers fuck her slow but deep, knuckles pressing with every thrust, tongue not giving her a second to breathe. Her walls clench, she sobs, and I smile darkly against her.

She’s close. Too close. So I stop.

She cries out. A raw, broken sound. But I ignore it.

“Look at me.”

She does, barely able to lift her head. Her eyes are glassy, lips parted, chest heaving.

“No one else will ever see you like this,” I say, voice like iron. “No one will ever touch you. No one could. You’re mine. Ruined by my hands. Shattered by my mouth.”

She nods, trembling.

I go back in and this time I take.

Three fingers, tongue relentless, and I do not let up. I suck her clit until her moans become screams. I curl my fingers until her legs kick and her hands fly to my hair like she’s trying to survive me. But I don’t slow down.

She comes hard; violently, her whole body convulsing around my mouth and hand, voice broken into sobs. I hold her down and keep going, tongue dragging through her overstimulation until she’s crying from it.

Still not done.

I shift her legs over my shoulders and bury myself deeper. She squirms, tries to push me away, but her strength is gone. Her body is weak, wrecked. Perfect.

“Take it,” I growl into her. “You said you could handle me. So handle it.”

Another orgasm tears through her. Then another. Each one breaking her further. Her voice is gone, throat raw, body limp in my hands. She’s not begging anymore because she can’t speak. She’s mine now, completely.

I pull back slowly. Look at her.

Flushed. Wet. Legs spread. Eyes glazed. No thought left in her head but me.

“Good girl,” I whisper, brushing my thumb gently along her thigh. “That’s it. That’s how I like you. Ruined. Used. Owned.”

And no one else will ever have a chance. Because no one could put her back together the way I just destroyed her.

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

She’s barely conscious under me. Her eyes are glassy, her mouth parted in exhausted little moans, her body limp across the sheets. Her thighs still twitch from the last orgasm, her skin flushed, soaked, ruined.

Perfect.

I don’t speak. I just press my cock to her entrance, watching the way her slick folds pulse and tremble. She’s so wet it’s almost sinful, dripping like she’s desperate to be filled, even when she’s already too far gone.

I push in slow. Not to tease; just to feel it. Feel her stretch, feel her walls clench around me, feel how sensitive and sore she is already.

She cries out, a raw whimper from deep in her throat, and I drop my weight over her, hand tangling in her hair, the other braced beside her head. I don’t stop. I bury myself to the hilt, groaning low into her neck.

“Still with me?” I whisper against her ear, voice like a growl. She nods weakly, eyes fluttering, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Good.

Then I move.

No slow start. No mercy.

I fuck her deep and hard, hips slamming into her with unrelenting rhythm. Her body jolts with every thrust, legs shaking around my waist, hands reaching for something; my arms, my back, the sheets, anything to hold on to. But nothing saves her from this.

“You feel that?” I pant, fucking her harder. “That’s what it feels like when you belong to someone.”

She sobs, back arching as another orgasm crashes through her without warning. She’s screaming my name now, voice hoarse and broken. Her nails dig into my skin and I love it, love how even in her destruction, she clings to me.

I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

Her pussy tightens so hard I almost lose control, and I slam into her deeper, forcing her to take every inch. My hand wraps around her throat, not choking, just enough pressure to remind her. My thumb presses under her chin, lifting her face to mine.

“Look at me while I fuck you,” I growl. “I want to see your eyes when I ruin you.”

She tries. Her lips tremble. Her whole body shakes.

“Too much,” she whispers.

“No,” I snap. “It’s not. You’ll take it. You’ll remember it. Every inch. Every thrust. Every time I break you, you’ll remember who fucking owns you.”

I press her knees back now, folding her open, going even deeper. The angle makes her scream, raw and wrecked, and I slam into her faster. She comes again, violently, body locking tight as another orgasm rips through her, soaking me, soaking the sheets, and still I don’t let up.

She’s gone now.

Crying.

Moaning.

Begging.

And I still fuck her.

Because she’s mine.

Because no one else will ever take her this far.

Because no one else will ever touch her after I’ve done this.

I slow only when her body starts to go slack, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes rolling back. I lean over her again, kiss her forehead, and grind deep inside her with a final thrust, filling her completely, holding still as I growl against her lips.

“All of you,” I whisper. “Marked. Filled. Fucked. Owned.”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

Her body says everything.

She doesn’t know what she’s in for, not yet. Not as I watch her laid out on the bed, flushed and breathless, already undone just from how I look at her. Her legs are parted slightly, not even from confidence but instinct. Her body knows who it belongs to.

I climb onto the bed, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling its prize. My hands slide up the backs of her thighs, firm and claiming, thumbs pressing into soft skin as I push her knees apart further. Her breath catches. She tries to close them again; half shy, half overwhelmed, but I growl low in my chest and force them wider.

“Don’t,” I say, voice sharp and deep as it rumbles from my throat. “Don’t ever hide from me. This is mine. All of it.”

She nods fast, eyes wide. But I’m not looking at her face anymore. I’m looking at the soaked mess between her thighs, glistening and perfect, waiting. My hands grip her hips like I could tear her in half just to bury my face deeper. She’s already shaking.

I lean in and don’t touch her yet. I breathe her in. That smell; sweet, sinful, entirely hers. I murmur into her skin, letting the warmth of my breath ghost across where she’s most sensitive.

“You’re going to break,” I whisper. “You’re going to fall apart so many times tonight, you won’t remember what it feels like to be whole.”

Then I lick her.

One long, unhurried stroke of my tongue from bottom to top, pressing flat and deep. She jolts, a strangled sound bursting from her lips. I smirk and do it again, slower this time, watching her body twitch beneath me like she’s already too much.

My tongue flicks at her clit; barely a touch, and her hips jump. I slap her thigh lightly and growl, “Keep still. You move, I make it worse.”

She whimpers. I drag her hips to the edge of the bed, wrap my arms around her thighs, and bury my face fully. No teasing now. No pacing.

I suck.

Hard, wet, open-mouthed kisses to her folds, tongue circling her clit in tight spirals, then flattening again and again. She moans loud now, thighs trembling under my grip, hands fisting the sheets like she’s drowning and I’m the tide.

“Too much,” she gasps.

“Not even close,” I growl into her, lips slick with her. “You’ll know it’s too much when you beg me to stop and still come all over my tongue.”

I slide two fingers inside her, curling them instantly, and her entire body arches off the bed. My fingers fuck her slow but deep, knuckles pressing with every thrust, tongue not giving her a second to breathe. Her walls clench, she sobs, and I smile darkly against her.

She’s close. Too close. So I stop.

She cries out. A raw, broken sound. But I ignore it.

“Look at me.”

She does, barely able to lift her head. Her eyes are glassy, lips parted, chest heaving.

“No one else will ever see you like this,” I say, voice like iron. “No one will ever touch you. No one could. You’re mine. Ruined by my hands. Shattered by my mouth.”

She nods, trembling.

I go back in and this time I take.

Three fingers, tongue relentless, and I do not let up. I suck her clit until her moans become screams. I curl my fingers until her legs kick and her hands fly to my hair like she’s trying to survive me. But I don’t slow down.

She comes hard; violently, her whole body convulsing around my mouth and hand, voice broken into sobs. I hold her down and keep going, tongue dragging through her overstimulation until she’s crying from it.

Still not done.

I shift her legs over my shoulders and bury myself deeper. She squirms, tries to push me away, but her strength is gone. Her body is weak, wrecked. Perfect.

“Take it,” I growl into her. “You said you could handle me. So handle it.”

Another orgasm tears through her. Then another. Each one breaking her further. Her voice is gone, throat raw, body limp in my hands. She’s not begging anymore because she can’t speak. She’s mine now, completely.

I pull back slowly. Look at her.

Flushed. Wet. Legs spread. Eyes glazed. No thought left in her head but me.

“Good girl,” I whisper, brushing my thumb gently along her thigh. “That’s it. That’s how I like you. Ruined. Used. Owned.”

And no one else will ever have a chance. Because no one could put her back together the way I just destroyed her.

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

She’s still trembling when I pull away, lips glistening, jaw tight from the relentless way I claimed her. She’s not even fully back yet, eyes barely open, breath coming in soft whimpers, body limp and ruined across the sheets like she’s forgotten how to move without my touch.

And she looks so fucking beautiful like this.

My hand strokes slowly up her inner thigh, fingers tracing the mess I’ve made of her. She twitches under my palm, breath hitching like her body’s begging me for mercy even though her mouth can’t form the word.

“You think we’re done?” I ask, voice low and deadly calm, dragging my fingers through her slick folds. She gasps, legs instinctively trying to close. I force them open again. “No, little one. That was just the first round. You’re not even broken yet.”

She lets out something between a cry and a moan. It only makes me harder. Hungrier.

I shift over her, taking my time. My body heavy, hovering above hers like a shadow, one hand gripping her wrists and pinning them above her head. Her breath stutters again. I tilt her chin up with two fingers, forcing her to look at me.

“I told you,” I say, pressing my forehead to hers, my voice softer now but no less cruel. “You’re mine. That means I get to decide when you’ve had enough.”

Her lips tremble. Her eyes beg.

So I take my time sliding down again. Not to tease. Not to play.

To own.

I hook her legs over my shoulders once more and lower my mouth to her again, but this time I’m slower. More precise. My tongue strokes through her folds with practiced ease, sucking her clit into my mouth just hard enough to make her jerk under me.

She’s still sensitive. Still on fire. Every flick of my tongue pulls another sound out of her throat, tiny gasps, broken cries, her hands clawing at the sheets, at her own skin, at nothing. Anything to survive this.

But I don’t let her.

I hold her down and devour her like I missed a spot. Like she isn’t mine yet and I’m desperate to make sure no one ever forgets who put her in this state.

I slip two fingers in again. She clenches around me instantly, sobbing out some desperate sound that’s more instinct than speech. I curl them perfectly, stroking that spot inside her while my tongue torments her clit in relentless circles.

Her body bucks. Her back arches. She’s so far gone her eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a silent scream.

And I keep going.

“Good girl,” I whisper against her skin, voice thick with filth and pride. “Come again. For me. Just one more. You can take it.”

She shakes her head. But her hips don’t lie.

I thrust my fingers harder and she shatters again; loud, soaking, screaming. Her whole body clenches tight around me like she’s trying to pull me inside with the force of it. I moan into her, not stopping even as she cries from the intensity, her legs trembling violently over my shoulders.

Her body starts to go limp again.

But I’m not done.

I press gentle kisses to her thighs now, soothing and possessive. My hand strokes the inside of her knee, then slides back between her legs where she’s dripping and pulsing, completely destroyed.

“You’re mine,” I murmur, voice thick and hungry. “This body, this mess, every sound you make, mine.”

She whimpers, still twitching beneath me, unable to form a thought. Perfect.

I climb back up, kissing along her stomach, her chest, her neck; biting once, hard, just to remind her that she belongs to me in every way.

Then I lean down close, lips at her ear, voice low and cruel and full of heat.

“Now be a good girl,” I whisper, “and open your legs again.”

Because I won’t stop until she forgets who she was before she belonged to me.

She doesn’t know what she’s in for, not yet. Not as I watch her laid out on the bed, flushed and breathless, already undone just from how I look at her. Her legs are parted slightly, not even from confidence but instinct. Her body knows who it belongs to.

I climb onto the bed, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling its prize. My hands slide up the backs of her thighs, firm and claiming, thumbs pressing into soft skin as I push her knees apart further. Her breath catches. She tries to close them again; half shy, half overwhelmed, but I growl low in my chest and force them wider.

“Don’t,” I say, voice sharp and deep as it rumbles from my throat. “Don’t ever hide from me. This is mine. All of it.”

She nods fast, eyes wide. But I’m not looking at her face anymore. I’m looking at the soaked mess between her thighs, glistening and perfect, waiting. My hands grip her hips like I could tear her in half just to bury my face deeper. She’s already shaking.

I lean in and don’t touch her yet. I breathe her in. That smell; sweet, sinful, entirely hers. I murmur into her skin, letting the warmth of my breath ghost across where she’s most sensitive.

“You’re going to break,” I whisper. “You’re going to fall apart so many times tonight, you won’t remember what it feels like to be whole.”

Then I lick her.

One long, unhurried stroke of my tongue from bottom to top, pressing flat and deep. She jolts, a strangled sound bursting from her lips. I smirk and do it again, slower this time, watching her body twitch beneath me like she’s already too much.

My tongue flicks at her clit; barely a touch, and her hips jump. I slap her thigh lightly and growl, “Keep still. You move, I make it worse.”

She whimpers. I drag her hips to the edge of the bed, wrap my arms around her thighs, and bury my face fully. No teasing now. No pacing.

I suck.

Hard, wet, open-mouthed kisses to her folds, tongue circling her clit in tight spirals, then flattening again and again. She moans loud now, thighs trembling under my grip, hands fisting the sheets like she’s drowning and I’m the tide.

“Too much,” she gasps.

“Not even close,” I growl into her, lips slick with her. “You’ll know it’s too much when you beg me to stop and still come all over my tongue.”

I slide two fingers inside her, curling them instantly, and her entire body arches off the bed. My fingers fuck her slow but deep, knuckles pressing with every thrust, tongue not giving her a second to breathe. Her walls clench, she sobs, and I smile darkly against her.

She’s close. Too close. So I stop.

She cries out. A raw, broken sound. But I ignore it.

“Look at me.”

She does, barely able to lift her head. Her eyes are glassy, lips parted, chest heaving.

“No one else will ever see you like this,” I say, voice like iron. “No one will ever touch you. No one could. You’re mine. Ruined by my hands. Shattered by my mouth.”

She nods, trembling.

I go back in and this time I take.

Three fingers, tongue relentless, and I do not let up. I suck her clit until her moans become screams. I curl my fingers until her legs kick and her hands fly to my hair like she’s trying to survive me. But I don’t slow down.

She comes hard; violently, her whole body convulsing around my mouth and hand, voice broken into sobs. I hold her down and keep going, tongue dragging through her overstimulation until she’s crying from it.

Still not done.

I shift her legs over my shoulders and bury myself deeper. She squirms, tries to push me away, but her strength is gone. Her body is weak, wrecked. Perfect.

“Take it,” I growl into her. “You said you could handle me. So handle it.”

Another orgasm tears through her. Then another. Each one breaking her further. Her voice is gone, throat raw, body limp in my hands. She’s not begging anymore because she can’t speak. She’s mine now, completely.

I pull back slowly. Look at her.

Flushed. Wet. Legs spread. Eyes glazed. No thought left in her head but me.

“Good girl,” I whisper, brushing my thumb gently along her thigh. “That’s it. That’s how I like you. Ruined. Used. Owned.”

And no one else will ever have a chance. Because no one could put her back together the way I just destroyed her.

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

She doesn’t know what she’s in for, not yet. Not as I watch her laid out on the bed, flushed and breathless, already undone just from how I look at her. Her legs are parted slightly, not even from confidence but instinct. Her body knows who it belongs to.

I climb onto the bed, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling its prize. My hands slide up the backs of her thighs, firm and claiming, thumbs pressing into soft skin as I push her knees apart further. Her breath catches. She tries to close them again; half shy, half overwhelmed, but I growl low in my chest and force them wider.

“Don’t,” I say, voice sharp and deep as it rumbles from my throat. “Don’t ever hide from me. This is mine. All of it.”

She nods fast, eyes wide. But I’m not looking at her face anymore. I’m looking at the soaked mess between her thighs, glistening and perfect, waiting. My hands grip her hips like I could tear her in half just to bury my face deeper. She’s already shaking.

I lean in and don’t touch her yet. I breathe her in. That smell; sweet, sinful, entirely hers. I murmur into her skin, letting the warmth of my breath ghost across where she’s most sensitive.

“You’re going to break,” I whisper. “You’re going to fall apart so many times tonight, you won’t remember what it feels like to be whole.”

Then I lick her.

One long, unhurried stroke of my tongue from bottom to top, pressing flat and deep. She jolts, a strangled sound bursting from her lips. I smirk and do it again, slower this time, watching her body twitch beneath me like she’s already too much.

My tongue flicks at her clit; barely a touch, and her hips jump. I slap her thigh lightly and growl, “Keep still. You move, I make it worse.”

She whimpers. I drag her hips to the edge of the bed, wrap my arms around her thighs, and bury my face fully. No teasing now. No pacing.

I suck.

Hard, wet, open-mouthed kisses to her folds, tongue circling her clit in tight spirals, then flattening again and again. She moans loud now, thighs trembling under my grip, hands fisting the sheets like she’s drowning and I’m the tide.

“Too much,” she gasps.

“Not even close,” I growl into her, lips slick with her. “You’ll know it’s too much when you beg me to stop and still come all over my tongue.”

I slide two fingers inside her, curling them instantly, and her entire body arches off the bed. My fingers fuck her slow but deep, knuckles pressing with every thrust, tongue not giving her a second to breathe. Her walls clench, she sobs, and I smile darkly against her.

She’s close. Too close. So I stop.

She cries out. A raw, broken sound. But I ignore it.

“Look at me.”

She does, barely able to lift her head. Her eyes are glassy, lips parted, chest heaving.

“No one else will ever see you like this,” I say, voice like iron. “No one will ever touch you. No one could. You’re mine. Ruined by my hands. Shattered by my mouth.”

She nods, trembling.

I go back in and this time I take.

Three fingers, tongue relentless, and I do not let up. I suck her clit until her moans become screams. I curl my fingers until her legs kick and her hands fly to my hair like she’s trying to survive me. But I don’t slow down.

She comes hard; violently, her whole body convulsing around my mouth and hand, voice broken into sobs. I hold her down and keep going, tongue dragging through her overstimulation until she’s crying from it.

Still not done.

I shift her legs over my shoulders and bury myself deeper. She squirms, tries to push me away, but her strength is gone. Her body is weak, wrecked. Perfect.

“Take it,” I growl into her. “You said you could handle me. So handle it.”

Another orgasm tears through her. Then another. Each one breaking her further. Her voice is gone, throat raw, body limp in my hands. She’s not begging anymore because she can’t speak. She’s mine now, completely.

I pull back slowly. Look at her.

Flushed. Wet. Legs spread. Eyes glazed. No thought left in her head but me.

“Good girl,” I whisper, brushing my thumb gently along her thigh. “That’s it. That’s how I like you. Ruined. Used. Owned.”

And no one else will ever have a chance. Because no one could put her back together the way I just destroyed her.

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

✨🖕🏽

Have a good day

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

📕🐙🥤🌪🎨

It's a shame there's no emoji for "i blush every time i start reading one of your long stories 🙈"

Haha thank you

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

You’re not my equal. You’re my toy, and I decide when you’re worth touching.

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

📕🛫🥤🌪️🧠

Thank you

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

📕🕶🥤

;)

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

your my next victim <3

DM to let me know

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

🌈🧥🎨

:D

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

🎨🥤🎽🧥 :D

;)

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

🧠📺

Cute ;)

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

🛰️ 🌝

;)

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

🪼 ;)

;)

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

Emoji asks!

Let people send you an emoji to express how they feel about you!

📕 your blog should be a book it’s so fun

🛰️ we live so far apart and yet I feel so close to you

🧠 I wanna study your brain

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🎽 I got your back when you feel down

🌈 Everything about you slays

📺 I wanna come over and watch your shows with you

🛫 I’m willing to travel to you just to see your face

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🧥 You make me so intrigued in whatever you’re talking about, even if I have no context for it

🎨 You are so creative

🎭 I wish I had your imagination

[narcissisticsmokers-blog]

The morning stretches slow and sweet, the kind of rare softness that begs to be savored. You’re still tucked against me, your body molded perfectly into mine, and I can feel the heat of you through the thin fabric of what little we’re wearing. The sheets are a bit twisted, barely covering us, but I don’t care. My focus is on you.

You stir a little when my fingertips start to move, not by accident, not this time. I let them drift across the bare skin of your back, slow and deliberate, tracing gentle patterns just beneath your shoulder blades. You shift, murmuring something unintelligible against my chest, but I don’t stop. My hand keeps traveling, down the curve of your spine, until I reach your waist. I let my fingers rest there for a moment, just teasing at the edge of your shirt. Or maybe it’s mine. Hard to tell anymore.

I grin to myself and slip my hand under the fabric, feeling the warm skin of your waist, then the soft dip just above your hip. My touch is light, barely there, enough to make you squirm a little and let out that sleepy giggle I love. It’s still lazy morning energy, but there’s a spark there now.

“Too early,” you mumble, but there’s no real protest in your voice. You’re smiling, I can feel it against my skin.

“Oh?” I murmur against the crown of your head. “Feels like the perfect time to me.”

I shift a little so we’re face to face now, your leg still draped over mine, and I run the back of my knuckles slowly along your thigh, brushing just under where your shirt ends. You bite your lip like you’re trying not to smile too much, but I see it. Your eyes are heavy-lidded, soft, curious. I raise an eyebrow.

I lean in close and press my lips to your cheek, a slow warm kiss, then trail them along your jaw, letting my nose nudge behind your ear where I know you’re most sensitive. My fingers on your thigh give a playful squeeze and you twitch, your hand suddenly sliding up my side in retaliation, cold fingers against my warm skin.

“Rude,” I mutter, grinning.

You laugh and I can feel it echo in my chest where you’re pressed against me. You try to roll away playfully but I catch your wrist, gently, and pull you right back into me.

“Nuh uh,” I say, tucking you under me a little as I hover above, our faces inches apart. “This is my day off too. And I plan to spend it making you giggle and squirm.”

You pout, dramatically. I kiss it away.

Then I trail my fingers again, this time slower, lighter, tracing the curve of your ribs beneath the fabric, drawing tiny shapes. You shiver a little, and I love that, how easily I can make your breath catch with just a little bit of focus. I keep teasing, not too much, just enough. Letting the touches feel lazy, indulgent, like every inch of you deserves attention. Because it does.

We don’t rush anything. There’s no need. The world can wait while we laugh and tease and hold each other like this.

It’s just us. Skin to skin. Smile to smile. Warmth and wanting tangled up in bedsheets and sunlight.