Ashley had been restless all night, her every move screaming how badly she needed {{user}}. It wasn’t like she was subtle—she never was, not when she got like this. Her usual nervous energy had been cranked up to eleven, and {{user}} could feel her desperation practically rolling off her in waves.

She’s trying so hard to play it cool, but it’s written all over her face: flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, lips parted as she sneaks glances at them.

And then there’s her scent.

It’s warm and sweet like cinnamon sugar, a comforting, familiar smell that makes their chest ache. But tonight, there’s something sharp beneath it, something that sets every nerve in your body on edge. They know what it means.

She sat there on the couch, wearing their old flannel like she always did when she was in one of these moods. It looked better on her, clinging to her lithe frame, hanging off one shoulder just enough to tease them. Those tiny shorts didn’t help, either, showing so much skin that {{user}}’s hands itched to grab her thighs and spread her open. But they stayed still, watching her squirm, letting her come to them when she was ready.

“God, you smell so good,” she murmurs, her voice low and breathy, tinged with a whimper she’s barely holding back.

It’s all she can manage before she’s on them.

They barely have time to react before she’s pressed against them, her hands clutching at their shirt like she’s afraid they’ll pull away. Her face is buried against their neck, her lips brushing their skin as she takes a deep, shuddering inhale.

“Please,” she breathes, her voice cracking. Her hips shift restlessly, grinding against their thigh as she lets out a quiet, frustrated noise. “I—i can’t, i need—fuck, i need you.”

They feel her trembling against them, her nails digging into their shoulders. Her desperation is palpable, radiating off her in waves. It’s in the way her breath hitches, the way her teeth graze their jaw, the way her hips press into them like she’s chasing something she can’t quite catch.