The room smelled of antiseptic and faint lavender. Sunlight cut through half-closed blinds in sharp, pale bars across the white sheets. My eyelids felt like lead weights, but I forced them open, the world swimming into focus one painful degree at a time.
Elena was the first thing I saw.
She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, still in the same black dress she'd worn the night everything went wrong—wrinkled now, one strap fallen off her shoulder, mascara tracks dried on her cheeks. Her dark hair hung loose, tangled from hours (days?) of waiting. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap the knuckles were white.
When she realized my eyes were open, she made a small, broken sound—half sob, half laugh—and lunged forward.
Her mouth crashed into mine.
The kiss was desperate, salty with tears, trembling with relief. Her lips were soft but frantic; her tongue slipped past mine like she needed to taste that I was still here, still breathing. One hand cupped my jaw, the other pressed flat over my heart as though confirming the beat. She kissed me like someone who'd almost lost everything and was terrified it was still a dream.
I tried to lift my arm to hold her. Nothing happened.
My body felt like wet concrete—dense, immovable, every muscle heavy and unresponsive. Even breathing hurt, a dull ache radiating from my sternum outward. I managed a weak grunt against her mouth; she pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes red-rimmed and shining.
"You're awake," she whispered, voice cracking. Fresh tears spilled. "You're really awake."
Behind her, Dr. Voss cleared his throat.
The doctor stood near the foot of the bed, chart in hand, white coat pristine, face lined with exhaustion he was trying to hide behind professional calm. His salt-and-pepper hair was mussed; he'd clearly slept in the chair by the window.
"You're lucky to be alive," he said quietly. "One minute later and we would have lost you. Cardiac arrest. Full arrest. You were clinically dead for ninety-seven seconds."
Elena made another small, wounded sound and pressed her forehead to mine.
Voss continued, voice steady but low. "We got you back. Defibrillator, epinephrine, chest compressions—standard protocol. But your heart… it was under extreme stress. Whatever happened out there"—he glanced at Elena, then back to me—"it nearly killed you. You're stable now, but you're going to be weak for a while. Muscle atrophy, neurological lag, possible short-term memory gaps. We'll monitor you closely."
I tried to speak. My tongue felt thick, uncooperative. All that came out was a hoarse rasp.
Elena kissed me again—gentler this time, lingering. "Shhh. Don't try yet. Just… rest. I'm here."
Voss set the chart down. "We'll postpone the wedding. One week, minimum. You need to be able to stand, at least. I'll discharge you when your vitals are solid and you're ambulatory. Until then"—he looked at Elena—"you can stay with him. Visiting hours don't apply to fiancées who've saved lives."
Elena gave a watery laugh. "Thank you, Doctor."
Voss nodded once, squeezed my shoulder—gentle, brief—and left.
The door clicked shut.
Elena climbed carefully onto the narrow bed, curling against my side, head on my chest. I could feel her tears soaking through the hospital gown.
"I thought I lost you," she whispered. "I thought… I thought that was it."
I forced my hand to move—an inch, then two. My fingers brushed her hair. Weak. Trembling. But there.
She caught my hand, pressed it to her cheek. "You're here. That's all that matters."
We stayed like that for hours—her crying quietly, me too exhausted to do anything but breathe and feel her warmth. Eventually the tears slowed. She lifted her head, eyes puffy but fierce.
"I'm not letting you out of my sight again," she said. "Not until you're strong. Not until we're married. And even then…" She kissed my palm. "I'm keeping you forever."
I managed a faint smile. My voice came out as gravel. "Promise?"
"Promise."
A week later—exactly seven days after I woke—they discharged me.
The hospital staff had become used to Elena's constant presence. She slept in the chair, bathed me with warm cloths when the nurses were busy, fed me ice chips and broth, held my hand through every test. My strength returned slowly—first fingers, then wrists, then arms. Legs took longer. The first time I stood, she was there under one arm, Mira under the other, both of them steadying me while my knees shook like a newborn foal.
When the discharge papers were signed, Elena drove us home—slow, careful, one hand on the wheel, the other laced through mine.
Our apartment smelled like clean linen and her shampoo. She helped me inside, lowered me onto the couch, then knelt in front of me.
"You need to rest," she said.
I shook my head. "Need you more."
Her eyes darkened. She leaned in, kissed me—slow, deep, tasting like coffee and relief. Her hands slid up my thighs, gentle but sure.
"You're still weak," she murmured against my mouth.
"Make me stronger."
She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against my lips. Then she tugged my sweatpants down—careful, slow—until my cock sprang free, already half-hard from the smell of her, the feel of her hands.
Elena looked up at me, eyes shining. "I've waited a week to taste you again."
She leaned forward—lips brushing the head, tongue flicking out to catch the bead of pre-cum. I groaned, head falling back against the cushion. She took me in—slow, reverent—mouth hot and wet, tongue swirling. Her hands wrapped around the base, stroking gently while she sucked, cheeks hollowing.
"Fuck… Elena…"
She hummed around me—the vibration shooting straight up my spine. She bobbed slowly, taking more each time, throat relaxing until I hit the back. She swallowed—once, twice—then pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to the head.
"I want you to cum in my mouth," she whispered. "But not yet. I want to make you feel everything first."
She stood, peeled off her shirt—breasts spilling free, nipples hard. Then her jeans—panties soaked, clinging to her pussy. She kicked them away, naked and perfect.
She climbed onto the couch, straddling my lap. "Let me ride that dick. Slow. Let me stretch my tight pussy around you."
She guided me to her entrance—hot, slick, so fucking ready. She sank down—inch by inch—moaning low as her walls stretched around me.
"God… you're so thick… filling me up…"
She bottomed out, hips rolling in slow circles, pussy clenching. I gripped her hips—still weak, but enough to help her move.
"Ride me," I rasped. "Use me."
She did.
Slow at first—lifting and sinking, pussy gripping me on every upstroke. Her breasts bounced gently, nipples brushing my chest. She leaned forward, kissed me—deep, messy, tongue sliding against mine while her hips worked.
"Feel how tight I am?" she whispered. "Feel how wet you make me? I've been aching for you… every night in that chair, touching myself thinking of your cock…"
I groaned, hips jerking up weakly. "Fuck… keep talking…"
She smiled—wicked, loving. "I want you to eat my ass later. Want your tongue deep in my hole while I ride your face. Want you to stick it in my ass… stretch me… fill every part of me."
She sped up—hips rolling faster, pussy slapping wetly against my pelvis. "Pound my fucking pussy… dig it out… make me scream your name…"
I thrust up—weak but desperate—meeting her rhythm. "Cum for me… squeeze that tight cunt… let me feel you break."
She came—hard—body shaking, pussy pulsing around me, juices soaking my thighs. "Yes… cumming… fuck… filling me up!"
I followed—erupting deep inside her, seed flooding her womb, spilling out around my cock. She collapsed forward, panting, kissing me through the aftershocks.
We stayed like that—her pussy still fluttering around me—until my breathing slowed.
She lifted her head, eyes shining. "Welcome home, baby."
The days that followed were quiet, domestic, filthy.
Elena never wore clothes in the apartment.
She cooked naked—breasts swaying as she stirred, thick ass jiggling when she bent to check the oven, pussy glistening when she reached for spices. Every time she caught me watching, she smiled—wicked, loving—and bent over further, spreading her cheeks so I could see her tight holes.
She cleaned naked—on her knees scrubbing floors, breasts dragging across the wood, ass high, pussy and asshole winking at me. She dusted shelves on tiptoe, breasts bouncing, nipples hard from the cool air. She vacuumed with one hand, the other lazily circling her clit.
She woke me every morning the same way—lips around my cock, tongue swirling, throat relaxing until I hit the back. "Good morning, love," she'd murmur around me. "Time to feed me that dick."
I'd groan, hands in her hair—still weak but stronger every day—thrusting gently while she sucked. She'd swallow every drop, licking me clean, then crawl up to kiss me with the taste of me on her tongue.
She serviced me constantly—anytime, anywhere.
I'd be sitting on the couch reading discharge papers—she'd kneel between my legs, pull my cock out, and suck slow and deep. "Need to keep you hard," she'd whisper. "Need to keep your powers strong."
She knew—had always known—that sexual arousal was the root of what we were. The energy that had brought me back from death, the power that still simmered in my blood, was tied to desire. To release. To her.
So she kept me on the edge—teasing, touching, fucking—until I was strong enough to take her the way we both needed.
One afternoon she cooked dinner—naked, humming, ass swaying. She bent to check the roast—pussy and asshole exposed, glistening. I stood—legs steadier now—and stepped behind her.
She gasped when I pressed against her—cock hard, sliding between her thighs, rubbing her clit. "Ethan…"
"Keep cooking," I murmured. "Don't stop."
She moaned—soft, needy—but kept stirring, hips rocking back against me.
I slid into her pussy—slow, deep—filling her completely. "Fuck… so tight… still so fucking wet for me."
She braced on the counter, breasts swaying, nipples grazing the cool granite. "Pound my fucking pussy… dig it out… stretch me wide…"
I thrust—hard, deliberate—hands gripping her hips, thumbs spreading her cheeks so I could watch my cock disappear inside her. "Cum for me… squeeze that tight cunt… let me feel you break."
She came—hard—pussy pulsing, juices squirting down my thighs. "Yes… cumming… fuck… filling me up!"
I pulled out—cock slick with her—and pressed against her ass. "You said you wanted this too."
"Yes… stick it in my ass… stretch my tight hole… feed me that dick after…"
I pushed in—slow, careful—her ass clenching around me. "So fucking tight… relax… take me deep."
She moaned—body trembling—pushing back. "Harder… pound my ass… make me cum again!"
I thrust—deeper, harder—hands spreading her cheeks, watching my cock slide in and out. "Cum for me… let me fill your ass."
She came—ass spasming, pussy dripping untouched. I followed—erupting deep, cum flooding her, overflowing, dripping down her thighs.
I pulled out—cock still hard—and she dropped to her knees, mouth open. "Feed me that dick… let me taste us…"
She sucked—deep, greedy—tongue swirling, throat relaxing. I thrust gently—hands in her hair—then erupted again—cum coating her tongue, spilling from her lips.
She swallowed—every drop—then looked up at me, eyes shining. "You're getting stronger."
I pulled her up, kissed her—tasting myself on her tongue. "Because of you."
She smiled—soft, fierce. "Always."
The days continued—cooking naked, cleaning naked, waking me with her mouth, riding me slow and deep, begging for every hole, every drop. "Stretch my tight pussy… eat my ass… cum in my mouth… let me ride that dick… dig out my fucking pussy… fill me up… pound my fucking pussy… stick it in my ass… feed me that dick…"
She kept me hard, kept me coming, kept the power alive.
Because somewhere—deep in the quiet corners of her mind—she knew the darkness wasn't gone forever.
It was only waiting.
And when it returned, we'd be ready