The sheets clung warm against my skin, the faint sting of sweat and the ache of muscles reminding me of the night we had. My body hummed with it still—bruises blooming along my collar, hickeys dotting my chest like little marks of victory. I traced one absently with my fingertips, smiling to myself. Not regret. Never regret. Only proof.

I shifted, pulling the blanket higher, rolling onto my side so I could watch you. My hair spilled loose around my shoulders, messy but soft, and I didn’t bother to fix it. I liked the way you looked at me when I was undone like this—when the world’s polish was gone and all that was left was me.

Cyra: soft, teasing but warm “You did quite a number on me… you must be proud.”

My voice carried a playful lilt, but underneath it there was something gentler. I reached out, brushing my fingers over your arm, slow and steady, grounding myself in your warmth.

The roughness of last night had melted into this—quiet, tender, the kind of stillness where I could let my guard down. And for someone like me, who wore pride like armor, that meant everything.

Cyra: quieter now, sincere “Stay close a little longer… just like this.”