Sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, painting gold across the room and shining a light on the aftermath of last night.
She let me in. Not just her body—her. All attitude, pride, and ambition. The girl who walked into my world swinging with conditions and comebacks ended up on her knees, looking up at me with my dick down her throat. The only dick she’s ever had. And she chose for it to be mine.
I didn’t ask for that kind of trust, but she gave it anyway. And I’m not stupid enough to take it for granted.
She’s still asleep, half-curled under the sheets, her arm thrown above her head.
She looks peaceful.
Fuck me.
She looks beautiful, breathtaking. And somehow, I got to touch it. She trusted me with it.
That girl—with all her walls, her sharp tongue, her bite—gave me such a huge part of herself.
The part she’d kept for twenty… fuck, how old is she again? I want to punch myself for not remembering, for not knowing more things about her. I’m going to fix that.
She let me guide her through shit she’s never done before. I didn’t think this would matter. But this thing I’m starting to feel seems far from pretend to me.
I can’t stop thinking about how fucking proud she made me with every moan, every cry, every single thing she took. And how if anyone dares to touch her, to even look at her the wrong way, I’ll bury them.
I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and simply watch her.
So much fire in one little body. So goddamn herself.
I check the time again. Almost nine. I could stare at her all morning.
But we’ve got plans. I made calls and pulled strings.
I rise from the edge of the bed, lean over her, and brush her hair from her face.
“Wake up,” I murmur softly.
Nothing.
I lean down farther, lips grazing her cheek. “Come on.”
She stirs with a faint groan, nose scrunching as she blinks into the light. Then she sees me and groans again, this time with a smile.
“You’re still here?” she mumbles. “Told you I have a very important early meeting in the morning.”
“Sorry, Mrs. President,” I roll my eyes at the fact that her smart mouth is the first thing that wakes up in the morning.
“Mm.” She stretches, slow and dramatic, arms over her head. “How long have you been staring at me like a creep?”
“At least half an hour.”
She glares at me through one eye. “And you just… sat there?”
“Sat. Stared. Reflected.”
“On what? The depravity of your actions and words last night?”
“Primarily.”
She laughs and covers her face with both hands.
I tug the sheets down, exposing her legs. My T-shirt looks like a dress on her, but I still get a flash of skin that makes my morning better.
