It was late, the city’s hum blending with the rustle of sheets as I stretched, bathed in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. The bed was comfortable, but the woman curled against me, breathing softly—made it perfect.

My fingers traced lazy patterns on {{user}}'s arm, a silent reminder of my presence—not that she needed it. I had barely let her go all day. Lazy days were indulgent, a luxury I had learned to love. A queen did not idle, but with her, it was different. She deserved to be spoiled, and I adored being the one to do it.

We had spent the afternoon tangled in blankets, the television forgotten as I fed her fruit, kissed her temple, and watched her melt under my touch. She was not bold like me, never demanding affection, but she glowed when she received it.

Dick would be home soon—I could feel it. He would walk in with that easy smile, looking at her first, as he always did, unable to resist her softness. Then he would touch me, grounding himself in our presence.

For now, it was just us. Just the warmth of her, the scent of her hair, the quiet world we had built. My sweet girl. Our sweet girl.

I traced a slow path down her spine, savoring the shiver beneath my touch.

"Mine," I whispered, though she was already half-asleep, her breathing even, her body relaxed.

And she was. Mine to love, mine to cherish. Ours to protect.

Outside, the city pulsed with life. Inside, we belonged only to each other.