Jackson’s POV
Sunlight sliced through the half-open blinds and painted warm stripes across my bare chest. I woke up slowly, like surfacing from deep water—body heavy, mind still floating. The throw blanket from last night was tangled around my waist. My c**k was already half-hard, morning wood mixed with the memory of her n****e between my lips, the taste of her skin, the way she’d whispered “good boy” while I nursed myself to sleep.
The couch. We’d never made it upstairs. I was alone now, but her scent clung everywhere—jasmine, amber, and the faint musk of s*x. My lips still felt swollen from sucking.
I sat up. My sweatpants were gone; she must have pulled them off me after I passed out. I was naked under the blanket, c**k resting thick against my thigh, a dried streak of precum on my
