Along her jaw. Behind her ear, where he knew she was ticklish and sensitive and absolutely lethal when she moaned there.

"I thought—" Sierra's breath fractured. "I thought this was a bath."

"It is."

"This feels suspiciously like round ten."

"You're being cleaned. Very, very thoroughly."

"Phei—ah~"

His hand had slipped lower, fingers gliding between her thighs, finding her already hot and swollen and dripping again despite the water.

Her cunt lips were puffy, tender, still flushed dark from hours of abuse, and the moment his fingertips brushed her clit she jolted like he'd shocked her.

"Sore?" he murmured against her ear, nipping the lobe.

"A little." Her voice cracked. "But—don't stop. Please don't fucking stop."

He turned her in the water with zero effort, pulling her to straddle him properly.

Her legs floated up and wrapped around his waist like they'd been trained to do exactly that. Her hands clamped onto his shoulders. Her eyes locked on his—dark, starry wide, so full of raw trust and naked want it punched the air from his lungs.

"I can't help myself," he admitted, voice rough. "I see you; I touch you, and I just—"

"I know." She cupped his face in wet, trembling hands. "I feel the same. Like I can't get close enough. Like no matter how many times you fuck me, I still want more. Need more."

He kissed her.

Soft at first. Tender. Just lips brushing lips in the warm steam. But she opened instantly, tongue sliding against his with a desperate little moan, and gentle detonated into hungry.

His hands found that impossible waist underwater—so narrow his thumbs almost met in the middle—and he lifted her like she weighed nothing.

She understood without a word, one hand diving between them to wrap around his cock—now fully, achingly hard, veins pulsing under her fingers—and guide the fat head to her entrance.

"Slowly," she whispered against his mouth, voice shaking. "I'm still—"

"I know. I'll be gentle."

He lowered her onto him inch by torturous inch.

The water made everything slicker, warmer, but she was still swollen, still tender from the night before. He could feel every flutter of her walls as she stretched around him again, feel the faint wince in her thighs as his thickness forced her open.

Her nails bit into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescents.

"Too much?" he asked, forehead pressed to hers, barely holding still.

"No. Just—fuck—give me a second."

He froze, buried halfway inside her pulsing heat, feeling her heartbeat throb around his cock as her body adjusted. Their breath mingled in hot, frantic puffs. Steam wrapped them like a blanket.

Then Sierra moved.

A small, experimental roll of her hips. Testing. Taking him deeper.

"Oh," she breathed, eyes fluttering. "Oh. That's… different."

"Different good?"

"Different mind-blowing." Her voice cracked into a moan as she sank lower, taking another thick inch. "The warm water, and you so fucking deep, and—oh god—"

She bottomed out with a shattered gasp, clit grinding against his pelvis, his cock buried to the root in her tight, swollen heat. For a long moment they just stayed there—joined, trembling, breathing each other in.

Then she started to move.

Slow, rolling circles at first, riding him like the water itself was helping her fuck him. Every glide dragged her puffy clit over his skin, every downward sink forced a soft, wet sound from where they joined—obscene even underwater.

"Phei," she whimpered, arms looping around his neck, tits pressed flush to his chest. "You feel—bigger like this. Or maybe I'm just—fuck—still wrecked from last night."

He groaned, hands sliding down to grip her ass, spreading her wider, helping her ride him deeper. "You're perfect. So fucking perfect."

Her head fell back, throat exposed, and he attacked it with his mouth—sucking new marks into skin already blooming with his bruises. She bounced faster now, water sloshing around them, steam thick enough to taste.

"I'm gonna come," she gasped suddenly, nails raking down his back. "Just from this—just from having you inside me—oh god, Phei, I'm—"

"Come on my cock, princess," he growled against her throat. "Let me feel that pretty cunt milk me again."

She shattered.

Her whole body seized, walls clamping down in rhythmic, greedy pulses, a broken cry echoing off marble as she came hard around him. He held her through it, thrusting gently up into her spasming heat, drawing it out until she was shaking and sobbing his name into his shoulder.

And when she finally went limp in his arms, still impaled and twitching with aftershocks, he kissed her temple and whispered, "Good girl. Now let's get you really clean."

She laughed—breathless, wrecked, perfect—against his skin.

"Liar," she murmured. "You're never going to let me out of this pool, are you?"

"Not a chance."

So, she moved again—bolder now, confidence flooding back into her hips like the water itself was urging her on—and Phei's hands clamped tighter on her waist, thumbs digging into those perfect dimples as he helped her ride him deeper.

The water sloshed around them in soft, obscene waves, the rhythmic splash echoing off marble like applause for how thoroughly she was fucking him.

This wasn't like last night.

Last night had been raw lovely chaos—hours of bruising grips, bitten shoulders, her screaming his name while he pounded her into the mattress until the headboard threatened to crack.

This was something else entirely.

Slower. Deeper. Gentle.

Sweeter in a way that felt dangerous. Her hips rolling in lazy, liquid waves, his guiding her with reverent hands, both of them moving together like the world had paused just to watch.

Because it had.

"Look at me," Phei murmured, voice rough with something more than lust.

Sierra's eyes fluttered open—she'd lost herself somewhere in the pleasure, head tipped back, lips parted on silent gasps—and locked onto his. Starry. Vulnerable. Stripped bare.

"I see you," he said quietly. "All of you. Not the Hell Bitch Queen. Not the ice mask you wear for the world. Just you."

Her rhythm stuttered. Something raw and fragile cracked across her face—the real Sierra, the one no one else ever got to touch.

"Phei…"

"You're beautiful like this. Real. Unguarded." He kissed her softly, hips rising to meet hers in a slow, deliberate thrust that dragged a whimper from her throat.

"This is what I wanted. Not the persona. You. Sierra. Be mine." He did not care about the revenge and shit. Never did. He just wanted her.

"You have me," she whispered, voice breaking like glass under too much pressure. "God, you have me. All of me. My Everything."

She kissed him then—deep and desperate, tongue sliding against his, tasting faintly of salt and steam—and he realized she was crying. Not the sad kind.

The overwhelmed kind. The kind that happens when someone finally sees you and doesn't flinch.

He pulled her closer, arms banding around her like he could shield her from every sharp edge the world had ever thrown.

Moved inside her with slow, worshipful strokes—each one dragging the head of his cock along that spot that made her tremble, each one reminding her she was safe here, ruined here, cherished here.

The pace never quickened. Never turned frantic. They rocked together in the cooling water, steam curling around them like incense, morning light painting gold across her skin, taking their sweet fucking time.

When she came, it was quiet—a long, shattered sigh against his neck, her body clenching around him in soft, greedy pulses, inner walls fluttering like they were trying to pull him deeper and keep him forever. She didn't scream this time. Just clung to him, trembling, soaking his shoulder with silent tears and hot breath.

He followed seconds later—groaning her name like a prayer as he spilled inside her, thick and endless, marking her from the inside out again because he couldn't fucking help it. His hips jerked helplessly, emptying everything he had into her swollen, perfect cunt while she milked him with gentle aftershocks.

They stayed like that for a long, long time.

Still joined. Still wrapped around each other. His cock softening slowly inside her, her legs loose around his waist, water lapping gently at their chests as it cooled.

"Best bath ever," Sierra mumbled against his shoulder, voice thick with satisfaction and something softer.

Phei laughed—an actual, surprised laugh that rumbled through his chest and made her smile against his skin.

"We should probably actually wash you now," he said, fingers tracing idle patterns along her spine.

"Mm. In a minute." She burrowed closer, nose nuzzling his neck like she was trying to crawl inside him. "Just… stay. A little longer."

He stayed.

The morning stretched golden and lazy around them, sunlight glinting off marble and water, the city far below waking up without them.

And Phei realized—with a quiet, staggering clarity—that he was happy.

Not satisfied. Not triumphant. Not the Dragon flexing its wings.

Happy.

When was the last time he'd felt that?

He couldn't remember.

Maybe never?

Maybe this—this wrecked, tear-streaked queen dozing in his arms, still full of him, sunlight on her face and his come leaking slow between her thighs—maybe this was the first time?

The Dragon had empires to conquer, battles to win, a world to bend.

But for now, in this marble sanctuary above the clouds, with Sierra warm and sated and completely, utterly his—

For now, he rested.

And it was more than enough.

It was everything.

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