Return to your body

You stretch Hannah's limbs languidly, feeling the pleasant soreness of physical exertion mixed with sexual satisfaction. Both Tiffany and Ava lie sprawled beside you on the sectional, their breathing finally slowing to normal.

"I should get going," you announce, running Hannah's fingers through her tousled auburn hair. "Early practice tomorrow."

Tiffany raises an eyebrow. "At this hour? It's almost one in the morning."

"Coach Wilson's a demon," you reply, drawing on Hannah's surface memories. "And I left my phone at the gym. Probably has a dozen missed calls from Brooke by now."

The excuse works. Tiffany nods sympathetically while Ava looks disappointed but understanding.

"This was amazing," Ava says softly, her fingers tracing patterns on Hannah's forearm. "Maybe we could...again sometime?"

You smile noncommittally as you gather Hannah's scattered clothing. "We'll see."

You finish dressing, deliberately leaving Hannah's underwear behind on Tiffany's floor. After a quick goodbye kiss to both women, you slip out the door into the cool night air.

Once outside, you break into a run. Hannah's body responds magnificently, her powerful legs carrying you across campus with effortless grace. The rhythmic pounding of her feet against pavement creates a hypnotic cadence as you head toward the science complex on the far side of Westlake—as distant from the athletic facilities as possible.

"Sorry about this, Hannah," you mutter to yourself as you push her body harder, increasing the pace until her lungs burn pleasantly. The campus is deserted at this hour, nothing but shadows and security lights illuminating your path.

You reach the physics building, a brutalist concrete structure far from any dormitories. Finding a secluded bench behind some hedges, you take a moment to appreciate Hannah's body one final time.

Your hands—her hands—slide under her sports bra, cupping the firm breasts that have given you such pleasure tonight. You squeeze them, memorizing their weight and texture. One finger circles a nipple, feeling it harden under your touch. Hannah's body responds instantly, a familiar warmth spreading between her thighs.

You trail her hands down her abdomen, feeling the definition of her muscles, then around to grip her ass through the thin fabric of her compression shorts. The firmness there speaks to years of athletic training.

Lifting a strand of her auburn hair to your nose, you inhale deeply, committing the scent to memory—a mixture of floral shampoo, sweat, and the lingering essence of tonight's activities.

"What a ride," you whisper, running Hannah's hands up and down her body one last time.

With a deep breath, you close Hannah's eyes and release your hold on her consciousness. The familiar sensation of sliding between bodies envelops you—a moment of weightlessness, of existing nowhere and everywhere simultaneously.

Then you're standing beside her, invisible, as Hannah Miller slumps forward on the bench, momentarily ****. You wait, curious about her reaction.

For thirty seconds, nothing happens. Then, with a violent jerk, Hannah's eyes fly open. She gasps, her hand flying to her throat as consciousness returns to her. Her expression cycles through confusion, panic, and disorientation.

"What the fuck?" she mutters, struggling to her feet. "How did I...?"

She looks down at herself, registering her disheveled appearance with growing alarm. Her hands pat her body, immediately noticing the absence of her sports bra and underwear.

"No, no, no," Hannah whispers, touching her face, her arms, as if confirming they're really hers. "Not again."

The words send a jolt through you. Not again?

Hannah pulls out her phone, squinting at the screen. Her expression shifts from confusion to something else entirely as she scrolls through what must be messages or photos. To your surprise, a small smile forms on her lips.

"Tiffany's place," she murmurs, looking up at the apartment building. "At least I had fun this time."

She stretches, wincing slightly as her hand moves to her neck where Tiffany left a trail of hickeys. Rather than panic, she touches them almost reverently, then inhales deeply. Her nostrils flare as she catches the scent of sex still clinging to her skin.

"Brooke is going to be so jealous," she whispers to herself, a hint of satisfaction in her voice as she starts walking toward campus, apparently unconcerned about her partial state of undress.