Then, suddenly, he moved.
In one swift motion, he flipped them again.
Now she was beneath him.
He hovered over her, his chest rising and falling heavily, his control hanging by a thread. His gaze lingered on her face for a brief second before dropping, drawn lower as he leaned in.
His face dipped into the curve of her neck, his breath warm against her skin.
For a moment, everything else faded—thoughts, hesitation, control. Neither of them knew who had the upper hand anymore… and neither seemed to care.
***
When Harold opened his eyes the next morning, soft birdsong filled the air. The tube lights were still on, casting a pale glow, while sunlight streamed through the open window they had forgotten to close.
Harold blinked slowly, his mind still hazy, caught somewhere between sleep and reality.
For a moment, he didn’t move, his thoughts sluggish, his senses dull. Then he shifted slightly—and felt something soft beneath him.
His breath caught instantly.
A strange awareness rushed through him, sharp and sudden, cutting through the fog in his head.
He stilled.
Slowly, almost cautiously, he lowered his gaze.
And froze.
It was Emma.
He was lying on top of her, his head resting against her chest. Their bare skin pressed together under the tangled sheets. He could hear her heartbeat right beneath his ear.
For a second, he didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Then everything from last night rushed back at once.
His fingers tensed slightly against her waist as flashes of memory hit him—how he had held her down, how he hadn’t let her go, how everything had spiraled out of control.
A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.
He shifted back a little, lifting his head.
At the same moment, Emma’s eyes slowly opened.
Their gazes met.
Harold stilled.
There was something in her eyes—soft, unreadable. No anger. No accusation. Just a quiet stillness… with a hint of shyness that hadn’t been there before.
Emma blinked, clearly startled to find him so close, her fingers tightening slightly around the bedsheet she had clutched against herself.
Harold was about to pull away—
But then his hands, already resting on her waist, tightened instead.
