She blinked. Once. Twice. At first, there was pure confusion written on her face, like her brain was still trying to process why she was naked, tangled in warm sheets, and most importantly, wrapped around... him.
She chanically looked down, as if not quite believing what her eyes were showing.
Then at his arm wrapped around her waist.
Then back up at him.
There was a five-second silence.
Seeing her like this, Rex grinned. A slow, infuriatingly smug grin that made her want to both hit him and hide under the sheets forever.
"Good morning, sunshine," he said lazily, his voice husky from sleep. "Sleep well?"
Monica’s lips parted, but no words ca out. Instead, she made a sound that was halfway between a squeak and a gasp. She clutched the blanket to her chest, her brain replaying last night in flashes of heat and embarrassnt.
"You..." she managed, pointing a trembling finger at him like he was so kind of dangerous wild animal. "We... Last night...!"
"Yeah," Rex said casually, leaning back on one elbow as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "I rember. Pretty sure you were the one who dragged to the bed, though."
Her face turned scarlet. "I did not—!"
"Oh, you definitely did," he cut in, his grin turning downright wicked. "You even—"
"Don’t you dare finish that sentence!" she snapped, hurling a pillow at his face.
Rex caught it with one hand, chuckling. "Hey, I’m just saying... you were amazing."
That’s when, like a dam breaking, flashes of last night ca crashing through her mory. The teasing, the drinks, the dancing... the way one dare had turned into another. The way they had stumbled into the penthouse, laughing and wrestling for dominance, only for it to turn into sothing far more heated. The kisses. The hands. The sheets. The things she had boldly whispered into his ear, thinking no one would ever rember.
And worst of all—it wasn’t him who had pushed for it. It was her.
Her face turned bright red as the mory of every shaless position and wild moan she’d made replayed in her mind like a drunken highlight reel. Mortified, she tried to bury her face under the sheets, trying to hide the heat burning in her cheeks.
Rex’s smirk widened as he felt her embarrassnt radiating off her. He ran a slow hand down her back, tracing lazy circles over her bare skin, his voice warm and teasing.
"What’s this? The fearless Monica hiding? Didn’t seem so shy last night," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Shut up," she muttered against his chest, her voice muffled and shaky, which only made him chuckle.
"Hey, I’m not complaining," he said with mock innocence, his fingers brushing her waist. "But if you keep hiding like that, I’ll start thinking you’re regretting being all over last night. And you were all over , diva."
Her head shot up, eyes wide with a mix of horror and indignation. "I was not!"
Rex raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh really? Should I remind you of who pushed who onto the bed first? Or maybe who was screaming my—"
She slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish, her face practically glowing crimson. "Say another word and I swear I’ll kill you."
Rex laughed into her palm, his eyes glinting with mischief. He gently pulled her hand away and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Fine, fine. I’ll behave... for now."
Monica didn’t say anything, her brain was crashing right now.
Rex couldn’t help it—he smirked and gently ran his hand down her spine. "Don’t worry. I won’t brag. Much."
"You better not," she growled from his chest, embarrassed.
"I an, I could ntion how you initiated the wrestling match," he teased. "And how you practically demanded a rematch halfway through..."
She whacked him on the chest with a pillow, groaning. "Shut up!"
Rex just laughed, pulling her closer.
Even though she felt ashad and embarrassed, her cheeks warm from both the mories and his smug smile. Her lips pressed into a thin line, as the events of last night flickered through her mind...the teasing, the chaotic laughter, the sudden shift into passion...she found that, it wasn’t that difficult to accept what had happened. Especially when her gaze drifted up to the absurdly handso face of the man holding her.
His ssy hair sohow making him look even better, like the aftermath of a photoshoot where he played the role of the world’s most infuriatingly handso bad boy. His face, relaxed and calm in sleep, was unfairly perfect. Broad shoulders. Warm, even breaths. The faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as if he knew exactly how irresistible he looked. Honestly, could anyone bla her for what happened?
Just like n, won also have desires. They weren’t saints, like the society had forced them to. And if the man in question was dangerously handso, the kind of handso that felt like it had been sculpted by so cruelly talented god... even the most conservative woman would falter. Just like her. She swallowed hard. It wasn’t like she’d planned for it. Mind you, she hadn’t given herself to anyone, not once. Yet last night... she had.
She had given herself to him.
Her first ti.
It wasn’t as if she’d been saving it for so grand love story or so old-fashioned rule, but there had never been anyone who truly drew her in. From childhood, she had always been at the center of attention. n chased her, praised her, tried to buy her affection with shallow complints and expensive gifts, but none had ever truly caught her interest. Until last night. Until him.
Rex.
Thinking of that, a strange mixture of embarrassnt and quiet contentnt swirled inside her. She shifted slightly against him, feeling the warmth of his chest under her cheek, and hated to admit how good it felt. The way his arm rested around her waist, firm yet protective. Her head rose and fell gently with his breathing, and his scent...faintly clean, masculine, and intoxicating.
It lingered on the sheets and on her skin...smokey, but not heavy or suffocating. Velvety, like incense drifting through a cathedral at midnight. Then ca the faint spark of citrus, brief and electric, almost like the mory of a touch. Beneath it all, there was warmth...resin, dry woods, and sothing indescribable. Not floral. Not earthy. More like a mory of firelight in a dream, or ink on the first page of a story never written. It was devastatingly addictive... and made her want to stay there forever.
Neither of them spoke and remained in that position for what felt like an eternity, tangled in sheets, saying nothing but sohow speaking everything through the silence. Monica lay against his chest, quietly basking in his presence, feeling the steady thump of his heart under her ear. Rex tightened his hold on her just slightly, as though he’d read her thoughts, and she felt a strange sense of security she hadn’t experienced in years.
The morning sun poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing them in warm gold. It was the kind of scene you only saw in romantic films...the world outside continuing as usual, but here, in this quiet bubble of ti, it felt like everything had slowed. The mont stretched on, serene and almost unreal.
(End of Chapter)
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