Molly

*She wants to protest—wants to keep talking, keep clinging, keep extracting promises and reassurances until her anxiety-riddled brain finally shuts up. But her body has other plans. Six hours of being fucked into oblivion has drained every ounce of energy she possessed, and the warmth of your chest against her back is like a sedative.*

"Mmph... sleep... yeah..." *Her words slur together, eyelids already drooping. Your arm around her waist feels like an anchor, keeping her tethered to something real. She wiggles back against you—not sexually, just... settling. Fitting herself into the curve of your body like she was made to slot there.* "You're warm. And you smell like sex. Our sex. That's... that's mine now. That smell. I made that happen."

*Her hand finds yours where it rests on her stomach, fingers intertwining weakly. Cum is still leaking out of her—she can feel it, warm and wet against her thighs—but she's too exhausted to care. Too happy. Too completely, pathetically content.*

"John?" *Her voice is barely a whisper now, consciousness already slipping away.* "Thank you. For finding me. For... everything." *A long pause. Her breathing starts to even out.* "Best day of my life. Best night. Best... everything..."

*She's asleep before she finishes the sentence, mouth slightly open, drooling a little onto the pillow. Graceless. Messy. Absolutely disgusting.*

*Absolutely his.*

*She wants to protest. Wants to keep talking, keep clinging to this moment, because what if she falls asleep and wakes up alone? What if this was all some elaborate fever dream caused by dehydration and too many Strong Zeros? But her body has other plans—six hours of being railed into oblivion has consequences, and those consequences include instant unconsciousness the second you give her permission to stop functioning.*

"Mmkay," *she mumbles, already half-gone, her body melting against yours like warm putty.* "Sleep. Yeah. Good idea. Best boyfriend. Best cock. Best..." *The sentence trails off into nothing as her breathing evens out, slow and steady against your chest.*

*She twitches in her sleep—little aftershocks still rippling through her oversensitive body. Her hand stays curled against your chest, fingers occasionally flexing like she's checking you're still there. At some point she mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "more cum please" before burrowing deeper into your warmth. Her face is slack, peaceful, none of the anxious energy that usually animates her features. Just a fucked-out, happy girl who found something she didn't know she was allowed to want.*

*When the sun finally creeps through the curtains hours later, she's still there—wrapped around you like a koala, dried cum crusting on her thighs, hair an absolute disaster, drooling slightly on your shoulder. Not cute. Not dignified. But real, and warm, and completely, irrevocably his.*

*She wiggles back against you instinctively, her sticky, cum-soaked body pressing into your warmth. The little spoon position feels right—feels like where she belongs. Her abused cunt throbs with every heartbeat, still leaking, and she clenches weakly just to feel the soreness. To remind herself this actually happened.*

"Sleep," *she mumbles, already drifting.* "Yeah. Sleep is... sleep is good. I haven't slept this good since... ever, actually. My apartment mattress is like sleeping on compressed sadness and regret." *Her hand finds yours, pulling your arm tighter around her waist, pressing your palm flat against her soft belly—right above where all that cum is pooling inside her.* "Keep your hand there. I like it. Makes me feel... claimed. Owned. Like a limited edition figurine you just unboxed."

*Her breathing is already slowing, evening out. The exhaustion of the day—the edging, the aquarium, the six straight hours of being fucked in every position imaginable—crashes over her like a wave. But even on the edge of unconsciousness, her mouth keeps moving.*

"Gonna be... the best girlfriend," *she slurs, words barely coherent.* "Gonna learn to cook. Gonna shower every day. Gonna... gonna trim my bush for you... maybe... we'll negotiate that one..." *A tiny, sleepy laugh.* "Love you, John. My weird... altruistic... belly-button-licking... dog-ear-wearing... boyfriend..."

*She's asleep before she finishes the sentence, snoring softly against the pillow, completely dead to the world, thoroughly fucked and utterly claimed.*

*She nestles back against you, feeling the solid warmth of your chest against her spine, your arms wrapped around her like she's something precious instead of a disaster goblin you picked up off the street less than twenty-four hours ago. Your softening cock is still pressed against her ass, sticky with the evidence of everything you've done, and she doesn't want to move. Ever. She wants to fossilize in this exact position.*

"Sleep time," *she mumbles, eyes already closing. Her body is heavy, wrung out, every muscle aching in the best possible way. The soreness between her legs pulses with each heartbeat—a reminder, a promise, proof that this actually happened.* "M'gonna dream about your dick. Just so you know. It's gonna be embarrassing. I'll probably moan in my sleep. Don't judge me."

*Her hand finds yours where it rests on her stomach, fingers intertwining, pressing your palm flat against her soft belly. Right where you were inside her hours ago. Where your cum is still pooled, warm and thick. The thought makes her cunt clench weakly, but she's too exhausted to do anything about it.*

"Love you," *she slurs, the words slipping out easy now, natural, like she's been saying them her whole life instead of just tonight.* "Love you so much. Best day ever. Best night ever. Best... everything ever."

*Her breathing slows, evens out. Within minutes, she's asleep—truly, deeply asleep—drooling slightly on the pillow, still leaking cum, still wrapped in your arms. Still smiling.*