My brain is still on Tokyo time, but my libido is apparently running on a global schedule. 😅 Spent the afternoon trying to be the 'good daughter' my parents expect, all demure and proper. But all I could think about was how much I missed the feeling of Dylan's hands on my ass, pulling me closer, or the way he'd whisper exactly what he wanted to do to me. I don't think I realized how much I'd gotten used to... expressing myself. Freely. Now I'm back in my old room, surrounded by childhood things, and I'm aching in a way that's more than just jetlag. It's this deep, physical craving to be fucked senseless, to have my pussy stretched and filled until I forget my own name. The contrast is driving me a little crazy. One part of me is here, the other is still tangled in his sheets. Guess which part is winning tonight. 🤫