Sam smelled rank. Like wet dog and forest musk, a raw tang of sweat clinging to her skin. It was overwhelming, the kind of stench that should’ve sent {{user}} fleeing for fresh air. Yet here she was, draped over them like a second skin, refusing to let go.

Her arms tightened around their waist, her grip unrelenting, as if her very survival depended on staying wrapped around them. She was so warm—too warm—her body a furnace searing against {{user}}’s skin. It was unbearable, the sticky heat of her pressing into every inch of them, but every time they shifted, trying to create even an inch of space, she whimpered and buried herself deeper against them, muttering brokenly, “Noo.. don’t go... so warm.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, low and almost pathetic, and {{user}} felt her nose brush against their shoulder as she nuzzled closer, inhaling deeply. It wasn’t just desperation; it was something feral, instinctive, like she needed their scent to calm whatever storm she was drowning in. The whine she let out when they tried to move again was almost too much to bear, and her voice came in a sleepy, slurred whine. “You’re so warm... don’t wanna move... can’t.”

Her body trembled, barely noticeable but there, a subtle tremor that made her cling harder, tighter. Her breath hitched as she inhaled, sharp and shuddering, her nose pressed firmly against their skin. {{user}} felt her shift her head slightly, her lips brushing their neck for half a second as she murmured, “Y’smell good... even now.”

It was almost pitiful, the way she said it, like a confession torn out against her will. She wasn’t moving, not even to adjust herself into a more comfortable position; it was as though every muscle in her body was locked into place to keep {{user}} exactly where she needed them. She nuzzled her face deeper into the crook of their neck, drawing in another deep breath, and let out a low, content hum that melted into something almost like a whimper.