Jason's chest pressed against Stella's, their breaths syncing as the last pulses of his climax ebbed.
He lingered inside her, his cock still twitching in the slick, warm embrace of her pussy, her bound body limp beneath him.
Sweat mingled, the ropes damp against her flushed skin, her hair a tangled halo, lips glistening with drool around the gag.
Her eyes—wide, raw, locked on his—held a silent storm.
He eased out slowly, his hands trembling as he unbuckled the gag, letting it fall from her lips.
She gasped, drawing in air, her jaw visibly sore, her breaths ragged but steadying.
His fingers brushed her cheek, soft and reverent. "So… how was it?"
Stella closed her eyes, a fleeting shield against the weight of the moment.
When she opened them, her voice was soft, almost fragile. "It was good."
Jason's lips curved into a faint smile. He pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, his hands moving to the ropes, carefully undoing the knots.
They didn't speak much after that, just tangled themselves in the sheets, bodies close, the air heavy with the scent of sex and sweat and something unspoken.
Their breathing slowed, and eventually, Jason drifted into sleep.
Stella didn't.
.
Morning came, the house alive with the scent of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee.
Jason shuffled into the kitchen, half-asleep, his t-shirt clinging to his chest, hair mussed.
Stella stood at the stove, her hair swept into a loose bun, her robe cinched tight, a picture of domestic calm.
"Morning," she said, her voice light, pouring coffee as if the night before had never happened.
"Hey." He stepped behind her, his hand grazing her waist, a tentative claim.
She didn't react, her focus on the coffee, the pan, the illusion of normalcy.
They ate, they talked—small, safe things. Classes. Groceries. The weather.
The night before might as well have been a fever dream, its heat buried under the weight of routine.
That night, Jason returned late, his backpack slung over one shoulder, the house dark but warm, humming with quiet.
His steps were soft, deliberate, his eyes flicking toward the hallway, toward her door.
A sliver of light spilled from the crack beneath it.
The door eased open.
Stella stood there, framed in the dim glow, her expression unreadable.
"Hey," he said, voice low, stepping toward her. "You up?"
She nodded, her eyes catching his, but there was something guarded in them.
He reached for her hand, gentle, intending to lead her back to the bedroom, to the heat they'd shared.
But she stopped, her grip tightening on his wrist, holding him in place.
Jason's eyes dropped to her fingers, then lifted to her face. "What's wrong?"
She didn't speak, her lips parting but no words coming.
"Didn't you like last night?" he asked, his voice softer now, searching.
Her eyes shifted, a flicker of hesitation, of something unspoken warring within her.
She opened her mouth, but the answer didn't come.
The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything they couldn't say.