“Logistical oversight,” I reply, and she laughs softly as my fingers find warmth and arousal between her thighs.
“Mmm,” she murmurs. “I was kind of hoping you’d say that.”
She rolls onto her back so she can look at me, eyes still sleepy but already darkening. She looks wrecked and beautiful and far too comfortable here.
I don’t tease. Not this time.
My fingers move with intent, confident now, and her breath stutters, a broken little sound leaving her as her body responds immediately. I press my forehead to hers, kissing her again, slow and grounding, letting her feel exactly where I am and where I’m not.
She arches into my hand, trusting, open, her body warm and responsive in a way that makes something fierce and protective curl low in my chest.
“That okay?” I murmur.
“Yes,” she breathes. “God, yes.”
I keep my movements steady, focused, feeling the way she tightens, the way her breathing changes, the way shegrips my shoulder as sensation builds. Her name is on my lips without me meaning it to be. Mine falls from hers like she’s holding onto it.
She comes with a soft cry, body shuddering beneath my hand, clinging to me as if I’m the only solid thing in the room. I don’t rush her. I don’t pull away. I stay right there until she eases back down, boneless and breathless against the pillows.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of her breathing evening out, the slow thud of my heart, the morning light creeping higher on the wall.
Then she blinks up at me, mouth tipping into a lazy, satisfied smile.
“Still counts as helping,” she says.
I smile back, brushing my thumb gently over her hip. “Any time.”
And I mean it.
She disappears into the bathroom with a towel tucked under her arm and a backwards glance that’s all soft mouth and promise.
The door clicks shut.
I stand there for a second, stupidly still, then scrub a hand over my face and head for the kitchen.
Breakfast. Normal things. Eggs. Kettle. Toast. The ordinary rhythm of it steadies me in a way I didn’t realise I needed. The extractor hums. The pan heats. Butter softens on the counter.
My body feels… quiet.
Not disappointed. Not buzzing. Just present.
That’s new.
I crack eggs into the pan and watch them settle, edges turning opaque, centres still lazy and slow. I lean my hip against the counter and let myself think instead of hiding behind jokes and distraction.
What just happened didn’t feel like a test.
There was no proving. No pressure. No internal scorecard running in the background. I didn’t have toperformor fix or push my body into doing something it’s currently refusing to do.
I was just there.
With her.
Helping. Wanting. Feeling connected without thinking about my own release.
It wasn’t triumphant. There was no mental fireworks display or victorious fanfare.
It was calm.
