The first pale streak of dawn slipped through the half-open blinds, turning the bedroom gray-blue. No one bothered to close them tighter. The sheets were a twisted mess—damp patches everywhere, pillows kicked to the floor, the comforter long gone. The room smelled like everything they’d done: sweat, come, p***y, pizza grease still lingering on skin. None of it mattered. Exhaustion had settled in their bones, but the hunger hadn’t left.
They stumbled back from the kitchen somehow, bodies brushing, hands trailing. No one spoke. Words felt unnecessary now.
Maya pushed Alex down first—onto his back in the center of the wrecked bed. He went willingly, arms open, c**k already stirring again from half-hard to ready. Maya climbed over him reverse, facing his feet, knees sinking into the mattress
