The morning sun spills brighter now through the dining room windows, turning the low table into a warm, golden stage. The air still carries faint traces of last night's musk mixed with the fresh steam of miso and rice—savory, comforting, grounding after the raw filth of the bedroom. Both of them are still completely naked: skin flushed pink from sleep and sex, faint red marks and handprints blooming across hips, thighs, tits. Erica's heavy breasts sway gently with every movement; Haruto's cock hangs thick and half-hard between his legs, still glossy from her morning mouth.
They kneel side by side at the low table—knees sinking into the tatami that's still faintly damp in spots from earlier leaks. Bowls of rice, miso soup with floating wakame and tofu, scrambled eggs flecked with green onion—simple, hot, perfect. Erica picks up her chopsticks first, scooping a small bite of rice and bringing it to her lips with a soft hum of satisfaction.
