Leena woke to the ache of metal still inside her.

Jagan's fingers had shifted in the night—the index and middle, still buried in her cunt, still wearing the rings. The silver band had settled against her g-spot like a second pulse, and the dark stone had found some new angle that made every shallow breath ripple through her pelvis. She didn't open her eyes right away. She lay still in the gray morning light and catalogued the sensations: the soreness in her jaw, the raw chafe between her legs where the crotch rope had been, the steady throb of the rings inside her.