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His hand slides between us, wrapping around my dick, and he pumps in time with his thrusts. Both at the same time is too much, pleasure building to an unbearable peak. White-hot pressure fills my balls.

“I’m gonna come—Kain—I’m gonna⁠—”

“Come.” The command comes ragged and hot at my neck. “Come for me, Bunny. Let me see it.”

The orgasm hits like a circuit breaker tripping, a full-body jolt that rolls through me in long, pulsing waves.

My release spills over his fist, hot stripes across my stomach, and my hole clenches around his cock, milking him as my body shakes apart.

A deep, rough groan tears from Kain, and his hips stutter. He thrusts into me one final time, his cock pulsing as he comes, filling me with hot pulses deep in my belly.

He collapses on top of me, sinking me into the mattress, his breath hot on my neck. His cock stays inside me, softening, and neither of us moves to pull apart.

My fingers uncurl from where they’ve been white-knuckled in the sheets. My throat is scraped raw, every sound gone. Every muscle in my body is liquid, boneless and spent.

Kain shifts over me and leaves a soft kiss on my sweat-damp temple. “Is that what you wanted?”

I burrow deeper into his shoulder in the only answer I can manage.

He pulls out slowly, and I whine at the emptiness. His hand strokes my hip, soothing, and he rolls onto his side, taking me with him, tucking me against his chest.

My eyes drift closed. Streetlight cuts through a crack in the blinds, painting thin stripes across us on the bed.

Beneath the blanket, Kain’s fingers find mine, and I fall asleep to him massaging the ache from my hands.

6

Aquiet rustle draws me from sleep.

For a few seconds, I hover in that heavy space between darkness and waking, my body reluctant to do anything more than breathe.

The last thing I remember is being in Kain's bed, his hands on me, and the pleasant bonelessness that came after my reward-gasm for winning the Pulse Riot competition.

Then nothing.

I shift beneath a blanket, and soreness answers from almost everywhere. My thighs. My lower back. My shoulders. Even my fingers ache when I curl them into the cushion beneath my cheek.

Cushion?

My eyes open.

I’m lying on my side with my knees drawn up, face pressed into a cushion that smells like Kain’s pillow, but the room doesn’t resolve into the expected shape.

Not the cozy nest of Kain’s bed.

Not my bedroom, with its undecorated walls, either.

The ceiling vaults high overhead, and amber light flickers off a glass display case. My ears prick to the gentle hiss of the gas fireplace and the click of glass from farther away.

I lift my head.

The living room.

My brain struggles to map the familiar space. Nothing is where it should be.

The two oversized ottomans have been pulled flush against the front of our sectional couch, creating a wide, sprawling platform. Cushions from both bedrooms are stacked and layered across it.

The throw blanket from Kain’s bed covers half of it, the deep navy fabric rumpled where I’ve been sleeping.