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“Just hold me,” I said. “Is that all right? I don’t need anything else. I just need you.”
“That’s more than all right.” She tugged the duvet higher and pulled me back against her until we were spooned, her breasts soft against my shoulder blades. “That’s the whole point.”
We lay like that for a long time. Her breath on my neck. Her thumb tracing slow circles on my hip. I told her what had gone through my head, the sudden panic, the stupid fear of disappointing her, and she told me it was never stupid, and that she’d been secretly terrified I’d say no to all of it. We both laughed at that, a bit wetly.
“Are you hungry?” she said, around midnight.
“Starving.”
She went out in my hoody and came back with a plate of buttered toast and a jar of marmalade, which she set solemnly between us on the duvet.
“I’ve ruined it forever,” I said. “I’ll never eat this again without flinching.”
“Or you’ll eat it and think of how brave you were tonight.” She fed me a corner. “Eat.”
Afterwards, in the dark, my cock stirred against her thigh, sleepy and shameless. I asked, and she said yes, and she took me in her hand, slow and unhurried, until I came quietly with my face in her hair.
“There,” she said. “Aftercare complete.”
I was asleep in two minutes.
Ending 7 of 16: Marmalade on Toast. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.