Yuko's chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths; the sheets tangled around her waist, one leg peeking out from beneath the blanket. The recliner creaked softly as I sank into it, my gaze tracing the curve of her hip, the way her lips parted just slightly in sleep.
Would she taste as sweet as Haruna?
I glanced at the clock. 4:17 AM. Dawn would break soon, painting the room in golden light. Painting her in golden light.
I stretched out, my body still humming with leftover lust, my mind replaying the way Haruna had begged, the way she'd gushed for me. My fingers twitched with the ghost of her skin beneath them.
I could've woken Yuko up.
I could've crawled into that bed, pressed my body against hers, and whispered her name until she moaned it back. I could've told her how good her sister had felt—how loud she'd screamed—and watched her face burn with the same shameful hunger.
But no.
Not yet.
I closed my eyes, letting the fantasy simmer as I drifted into a light, restless nap.
