FREYA POV
I woke up to the sound of the ocean; it’s morning.
Steve’s arm was slung heavy across my waist, his chest rising slow and steady against my back, his c**k still half-hard and nestled inside me from when we’d drifted off like that—
I didn’t move at first.
I just lay there listening to him breathe, feeling the slow throb of him every time my walls fluttered around the intrusion. My thighs were sticky. My core ached in that deep, satisfying way that made me want to clench just to feel him twitch. The sheets were damp beneath us—a combination of sweat, c*m, and the mess I’d made when I came the second time (and the third, when he’d flipped me onto my stomach and taken me from behind while whispering filthy Russian praise against my ear).
Guilt arrived last—quiet, creeping, curl
