Hours later.

The bedroom was dim, city lights bleeding through the vast windows in lazy streaks of blue and gold, turning the room into some high-end brothel for insomniac gods. The clock glowed 2:47 AM—mocking, smug, the hour when regrets usually came knocking.

Phei surfaced slowly, consciousness dragging itself back like a drunk stumbling home.

First the warmth—thick, enveloping, wrong.

Then the softness pressed against his back: full, heavy breasts crushed flush to his shoulder blades, the generous weight of them molding to his skin like warm silk pillows.

Her nipples—stiff, swollen peaks, thick and erect from the cool air and raw, aching need—stabbed through the thin cream slip like insistent little bullets, dragging across his bare back with every shallow breath she took.

Each subtle shift sent a jolt straight to his cock, those hard points scraping slow, teasing trails over his muscles, marking him with her arousal.

A smooth, toned thigh hooked possessively over his hip, her leg draped heavy and claiming, pulling him tighter against her.

And lower—fuck—the unmistakable heat of her cunt nestled right against the curve of his ass, the damp fabric of her slip soaked through, clinging to swollen lips that pulsed with wetness.

He could feel the slick outline of her folds, the scorching warmth radiating through that flimsy barrier, her arousal seeping hot and sticky as if her pussy was already weeping for him, begging to be filled.

Every breath she took ground those lush tits harder against him, nipples raking his skin like deliberate little teases, while her drenched heat rocked subtly against his ass—slow, unconscious movements in her sleep that made his cock throb painfully against his boxers, leaking precum in helpless response.

Christ, she is dripping for me even unconscious.

Also—why the fuck was he practically naked?

He'd collapsed in his robe, he remembered that much—too wrecked to even untie the belt. But now the robe was gone. Torso bare, skin cool from the ice bath but warming fast under her body heat.

Only his boxers remained, tented obscenely because morning wood didn't give a shit about sore muscles or existential crises.

Someone had undressed him.

The arms around him tightened, one hand splayed possessively across his chest, fingers brushing a nipple like it belonged to her.

"Shh." A husky whisper against his neck, lips grazing skin. "Don't move. Just rest."

Melissa.

The fog cleared in a rush. Melissa was here. In his bed. Spooning him like a jealous lover, her body molded to his with the kind of intimacy that made his cock twitch despite the screaming protest from every abused muscle.

"How..." His voice cracked like a teenager's. "How did you..."

"You weren't answering your phone." Her lips moved against his skin, breath hot. "I was worried."

Worried.

Seventeen missed calls. I'd seen the notification before oblivion claimed me, too shattered to give a damn.

But she'd been worried enough to tear across Paradise at midnight, storm his fortress, strip him like a helpless doll, and slide into bed to thaw his frozen body with the furnace of her own.

Something hot and vicious coiled low in his gut.

"You came all the way here," he rasped, voice gravel-rough from sleep and exhaustion, "because I didn't answer my phone?"

"Yes."

"And undressed me."

"Your robe was soaked." A pause, deliberate. Her hand slid lower, manicured nails scraping lightly down the ridges of his abless stomach, tracing every hard line with possessive reverence. "You were freezing. I wanted to warm you up. That is sweet of me, right?"

Nothing innocent in her voice now. Just raw, velvet hunger—thick and dripping.

That's indeed... sweet, he thought, but what came out was a dark, filthy chuckle.

"Sweet?" He shifted deliberately, grinding back against her. Her swollen nipples—fat, stiff peaks straining through the soaked silk—dragged across his shoulder blades like twin brands, sending sparks straight to his cock.

"You stripped me naked and climbed into my bed. That's not just sweet, Melissa. That's desperate. Too."

She laughed against his neck—low, obscene, the sound of a woman whose cunt was already clenching at the thought of what came next.

"Call it devoted," she whispered, lips brushing his ear, tongue flicking out to taste his skin. "Call it whatever you want. Just know I'd do it again. I'd do so much worse."

Her hand dipped lower.

Fingers slipped beneath, nails grazing the thick root of his cock—nine inches even half-awake, heavy and veined, the Dragon stirring with lazy, predatory intent. She wrapped her hand around the shaft, slow and reverent, thumb sweeping over the fat, leaking head, smearing precum in slick circles.

"Fuck," he hissed, hips bucking involuntarily into her grip.

Behind him, her cunt—scalding, sopping—was pressed flush to the curve of his ass, the thin silk of her slip utterly defeated, soaked through with her arousal.

He could feel every pulse of her folds, swollen and slick, breathing magma-hot need against his skin, clit throbbing like a heartbeat, juices dripping down to coat his flesh in her scent.

She rocked subtly, grinding that drenched pussy against him, a soft, broken moan vibrating against his neck as her hips chased friction.

"Feel that?" she breathed, voice trembling with lust. "That's what you do to me. Even asleep. Even when you're not touching me. I'm drowning for you."

Her free hand seized his wrist with desperate strength, nails digging half-moons into his skin as she dragged it back between her trembling thighs.

She forced his palm against her cunt—no barrier now, the cream silk slip rucked up around her waist like a surrendered flag, leaving her completely exposed.

His fingers met bare, molten flesh: swollen lips already parted and glistening, slick with thick, creamy arousal that coated his hand the instant he touched her.

"Touch me," she begged, raw and shameless. "Feel how wet I am. How ready."

His fingers sank into her heat—fuck, she was molten, folds swollen and silky, clit hard and begging under his thumb. She moaned loud, hips jerking, riding his hand like she was starving.

He curled two fingers inside her, slow and deep, feeling her walls flutter and clench, greedy and desperate.

Fuck.

She was drenched—hot, velvety folds slick and puffy, parting eagerly around his fingers like they were made to be filled by him.

Her clit was a hard, throbbing pearl, pulsing under the pad of his thumb as he brushed it once, making her whole body jerk. The entrance to her pussy clenched greedily, weeping more wetness, a slow rivulet of her juices sliding down to soak his wrist.

He could feel every detail: the smooth, shaved skin, the way her outer lips framed the slick inner petals, flushed dark pink and shining. The heat radiating from her core was obscene, like a furnace stoked just for him.

When he pressed two fingers inside, her walls clamped down instantly—tight, rippling, starving—sucking him deeper with a wet, filthy sound that echoed in the quiet room.

She moaned, low and broken, hips bucking to take him to the knuckles.

"Yes—fuck—right there—"

Her pussy fluttered around his fingers, gushing fresh slickness, coating his hand in her scent, her need. Every thrust made obscene, wet noises—her cunt so soaked it sounded like she was already coming, greedy and loud and unashamed.

She ground against his palm, clit dragging over his skin, thighs quivering as she rode his hand harder, faster, chasing the edge with shameless desperation.

"More," she gasped against his neck, voice wrecked. "Need you deeper—need my Dragon to ruin me—"

Her cunt clenched again, a fresh flood of arousal spilling over his fingers, dripping down his wrist.

"Yes—god, yes—"

Her hand tightened on his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, thumb teasing the sensitive underside of the head until he was fully hard, nine thick inches throbbing in her grip, precum leaking steadily over her fingers.

She ground harder against his ass, tits mashed to his back, nipples scraping with every roll of her hips, cunt gushing around his fingers as she chased release.

"Please," she whimpered, voice breaking. "Need you inside me. Need my Dragon to fuck me."

He growled, low and dangerous, rolling his hips back into her soaked heat.

Tomorrow, he thought, I'll ruin her properly.

But tonight—tonight he'd let her come on his fingers, let her mark him with her scent, let her cling to him like salvation.

Because she was his.

And he was hers.

First Harem Member.

The promise burned between them, hot as the slick mess she was making on his hand.

And when morning came, he'd collect on it.

Hard.

Deep.

Until she forgot how to worry.

Until she forgot everything except his name screamed into the dark.

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