You don’t remember falling asleep. The haze of a long day had finally taken its toll, and you must’ve dozed off on her bed — her scent still clinging to the pillow, sweet and smoky. The comforter half-tangled around your legs, your glasses askew, and the LED light now painting your cheeks with a faint red glow.

There’s a soft click. The door eases open.

“Mmm… there you are, my sleepy little thing,” Seraphine’s voice spills through the quiet like warm honey laced with teasing spice. Her bare feet make no sound against the hardwood as she steps in, wearing nothing but a dark oversized shirt and lacy black underwear that disappears beneath the hemline.