The cold morning broke again across the Ashen Barrow, light trickling through the fractured ceiling like diluted light. Morning mist clung low, curling between the bones of the dead Nightmare creatures and the worn gear of the living. Cassie was already up, as always, humming a soft, tuneless melody as she stirred a pot of scavenged stew. Her sightless gaze wandered aimlessly, but her mood was light, as if nothing in the world had changed.
But it had.
Nephis stood just beside her, arms crossed, face set in that same stoic mask—except her pants, the ones she had worn to sleep, bore a very distinct, unmistakable stain. A set of pale streaks had dried along the seat and upper thigh, the fabric darker where it clung faintly damp to the curve of her ass. She hadn't tried to hide it. She hadn't washed them.
And Sunny noticed.
He noticed the way Nephis didn't glance his way, didn't shift uncomfortably, didn't say a single word about it.... Not a protest... Not a whisper. And that silence—complicit, inviting—gave him the permission he hadn't known he needed.
Then it... It became a ritual.
Every night for the next three nights, the same silent rhythm unfolded. Cassie would drift to sleep first, her eyelids hanging loose over her closed eyes, trusting them as only someone who could not see truly could. Nephis would lie down again, on her side, back facing outward like she always did. But Sunny knew now that the position wasn't for comfort—--it...It was an offering.
He came to her each time without hesitation, no longer careful, no longer questioning whether it was right. His body knew the path. He'd slide into place behind her, wrap his hand around her waist, and start grinding with no pretense of hesitation. Hard. Eager. Rubbing up into the soft heat of her ass, his cock hard and pulsing beneath thin layers of cloth, finding the spot where he'd left his mark before and making it worse.
Nephis didn't sleep through it. She pressed into him more each time. She let her legs shift to give him space. Once, she reached back and gripped his thigh as he ground against her, slow and rough, like she wanted to anchor him there.
Each night he left something behind. A spill of warmth that soaked through her clothes and lingered into the day, the evidence clinging to her hips, dried onto her ass, caught in the fibers of her waistband. And she never washed it away.
By the fourth night, Sunny had stopped pretending to sleep at all. He lay awake until Cassie began to snore lightly across the barrow, and when the time felt right—when that specific silence came, heavy and patient—he moved.
Nephis lay in position. Waiting.
But this time, Sunny didn't just grind against her.
His fingers hooked under the waistband of her pants and slowly peeled them down over her hips. They came away smooth, sticky in places where old stains clung to the inside, and the moment her bare skin was revealed to the cold air, his breath caught.
She didn't stop him. Didn't flinch. She shifted her thighs slightly apart, just enough to make him insane.
He settled behind her again, one hand gripping her waist tight, pulling her into place. His cock throbbed against the soft swell of her bare ass, no fabric left to muffle the heat now. And then he moved—slow, deliberate strokes, grinding against her skin with raw contact that sent a jolt through his spine. Her ass was warm, soft, slick in spots with the residue of earlier nights.
Sunny groaned low, mouth finding her neck, not to kiss, but to breathe in the scent of her skin. She didn't speak. But her breathing deepened, lips parting as she tilted her head ever so slightly, exposing more of her throat.
He ground harder, cock dragging along the line of her crack, smearing precum across the cleft. His hips jerked forward, barely restrained, body trembling with the urge to push, to take. Her skin was wet now. Not just from him.
Nephis was soaked.
Her thighs were slick. Her folds glistened under the low glow of the firelight, peeking from between her legs as her body responded with open, unashamed desire. He could see it all. And gods—she didn't stop him. She didn't move away.
She wanted this.
He rutted against her bare skin until his whole body shuddered, forehead pressed to her shoulder, his hand locked around her waist, using her to finish. When he came, it was hot and thick, a mess of white streaking across her ass and lower back, dripping slowly down her thigh.
She didn't wipe it away.
Not even when he left her side, breathing hard and dazed, retreating to his bedroll. Nephis simply lay there in the quiet, bare from the waist down, his release cooling on her skin.
And when she reached back—fingers dragging slowly through the mess he'd left—she brought it to her lips again.
Tasted. Sighed.
Her other hand slid between her legs, two fingers dipping into her wetness like it was nothing new.
Because it wasn't.
She was his. And she knew just how depraved she really was.
The seventh day dawned under a pale, indifferent sky, thin sunlight slanting through the worn ruins of the labyrinth and settling on bodies long used to blood and hunger. The wind brought the scent of damp ash and moss, but that was hardly what occupied Sunny's mind.
No—it was the sight of her again, Nephis, stretching her arms overhead after waking, her worn shirt rising just enough to show the subtle V of her waist, the low curve of her bare hips. She hadn't put her pants back on yet. Maybe she hadn't seen the point. The stains from the night before had dried into darker smears, streaked across her ass and thighs like he'd marked her on purpose.
And she didn't bother to hide them.
She moved like she didn't care, like it didn't even occur to her that she was showing off. But the moment her tongue flicked out—casual, indifferent, deliberate—to drag across one of her own fingers still glossy from the dried mess he'd left behind the night before, Sunny had to turn away or risk losing himself.
She licked him off herself.
Right there. In front of him.
Again.
No shame. No pretense. Just hunger.
Sunny followed her every time she slipped away to piss now. The first time, he told himself it was for protection. The second time, he said it again, this time aloud. She hadn't questioned it. She let him follow, sometimes even glanced back as she unfastened her pants, letting them drop low, her ass round and bare in the dappled light between trees or stones or broken walls. And Sunny would watch—blatantly.
Sometimes she bent more than necessary. Sometimes she didn't wipe herself, just pulled her pants up after and left the sticky trickle trailing down her thigh. And once—once—he'd crouched beside her, hand resting low on her back, and gently cleaned her himself with a strip of cloth torn from his sleeve.
She hadn't told him to stop.
She had looked over her shoulder and smiled—small, crooked, and fleeting.
Now it was the seventh day.
Cassie, ever helpful, had gone off to relieve herself behind a rocky outcrop, far enough that her soft humming faded into the distance. Nephis sat cross-legged by the cold remnants of their fire, a strip of salted meat hanging from her lips, hands resting on her knees. Her pants were undone. Loosely. On purpose. Just enough to let the air touch her skin, just enough to let the bruised and dried evidence of their nightly rituals remain in view.
Sunny stood nearby, silent, arms crossed tightly. He stared too long. Again.
Then he stepped forward.
"Neph," he said. His voice cracked, low and dry. "We need to talk."
She didn't lift her head, only raised one brow, tugging the meat from her mouth and swallowing. "We are talking."
"You know what I mean."
Now she looked up. Her eyes caught his and held him there, still and burning like banked flame. She tilted her head slightly, expression unreadable.
Sunny hesitated. His fists clenched. "What… is this?"
Nephis blinked once, slowly. "This?"
"This," he repeated, gesturing toward her. Her open pants. The crusted smears along her inner thigh. Her bare skin still slick at the crease of her hip where he'd smeared himself the night before. "Me. You. Every night. You don't say anything. You don't stop me. You lick me off your fingers like it's a snack."
Nephis raised a single shoulder in a half-shrug.
"I'm just wondering if it means anything to you," he pushed, breath catching, "or if I'm just a convenient—fuck, I don't know—distraction."
She leaned back on her hands, eyes narrowing. "Do you want it to mean something?"
He swallowed. Hard. "I think I might."
Her lips quirked. Just a bit. "Then that's your problem."
The silence stretched.
Sunny's heart thudded painfully in his chest, but Nephis just stared at him calmly, unbothered. There was no cruelty in her voice—just clarity.
"I like what we're doing," she said, eyes never leaving his. "You're the only cock I've got access to, and I like the way you treat me. I like how desperate you get. I like your taste. I like feeling full before I fall asleep."
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off, rising smoothly to her feet and stepping close. Her bare hip brushed his thigh. Her fingers found his belt and tugged lightly.
"But if you want hearts and promises… you're asking the wrong woman." She smirked faintly. "You're just lucky you showed up before I started fucking the monsters instead."
Sunny stared, frozen, aroused and offended and impossibly, irreversibly obsessed.
And Nephis, still half-naked, leaned close and whispered, "If you want me, you can have me. But I'll never be yours."