It was one of those rare days where nothing was on the schedule.

No errands.

No phone calls.

No alarms.

Just you, her, and the massive bed in the master suite of the Nakano mansion. The sheets were tangled from the night before. The curtains were drawn just enough to let the morning light peek in.

And under the blankets?

You were both naked.

You lay on your back, her head on your chest, arm draped across your stomach. Her thick thighs were tossed lazily over yours, her breasts—massive and soft—spilling onto your side, warm and heavy.

Her flat tummy rose and fell slowly with her breaths, pressing into your ribs with every soft sigh.

She was quiet. Serene.

One finger traced idle circles along your chest.

You could feel the weight of her curves in every spot they touched you: her thick ass nestled perfectly into the space between your thigh and hip, her heavy breasts molding into you, her lips occasionally brushing against your skin like a sleepy kiss.

“I’m not moving today,” she whispered.