The Claiming

The moss, soft as the underside of a forgotten petal, cradled them as their bodies slowly unwound from the fevered knot of release. Each breath scraped raw against Carol’s throat, a testament to the sheer, unadulterated intensity of what had just transpired. Her skin thrummed, still alive with phantom touches, with the ghost of Casey’s cock filling her, with the stranger’s slick heat coating her tongue. She felt… peeled open, raw, and utterly, gloriously exposed.

Casey’s arms were still around her, his chest rising and falling against her back, a steady anchor in the swirling aftermath. His skin, so warm against hers, felt impossibly real, a comforting counterpoint to the ethereal nature of their surroundings. He stirred, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through her.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice husky, laced with a wonder that mirrored her own.