Chapter Text
The golden beam passes through the sliver of the curtain on the window, illuminating the murky room. You squeeze your eyes shut as you stretch your arms, a purr escaping your lips. But it’s cut short the second you realize the weight wrapping around your abdomen and nuzzling on your shoulder blade, a hot breath fanning your skin. Your eyebrows knit as you gaze behind through half-lidded eyes, still heavy with sleep.
A stranger comes into view and that’s when the event of last night slowly flashes in your head.
Ah, right. After years of living in a home that protects your innocence with rigid rules, you finally let your friends push you to the paradise of the outside world and taste the sin of what you’ve been told to never indulge yourself into until it’s the right time. But you can’t wait for the right time because when exactly is the right time? So, hitting 25 in your life, you finally decide that it’s the right time to indulge your curiosity. You let your friends drag you into a bar and find someone to satisfy your touch-starved ass.
That someone now lies beside you. Snuggled even.
A smile slowly stretches on your lips as you face him languidly, careful to not wake him up. He remains still, so you take the chance to cradle his cheek and stroke it, admiring just how serene he looks at this state. You can’t help but widen your grin as memories of last night occur in your mind again.
The phantom of his soft kisses that trails every patch of your skin; his hands that worship you like a sacred porcelain; how he chooses to savor you like a feast instead of rushing; and how gentle he is yet just as eager as you are.
It is far from what your friends have told you. He didn’t just start a small talk before finally hitting it with you. In fact, that didn’t cross his mind in the first place at all. But maybe it’s the liquor or your angelic face or the way that red satin dress accentuates your curves and the plunging neckline that shamelessly displays your breasts that sparks a burning desire in him that brings you two in his place. But he isn’t just there to pound on you, he is there to revere you.
You exhale through your nose as you slowly withdraw your hand. Even though you want another taste of it, you also know that a one-night stand is just a fleeting moment.
You fuck with the person and leave the bed the next morning. That’s how it should go. Oh, you even planned everything right. The right bar. The right dress. The right day. But there’s one thing you failed for this anticipated moment.
You didn’t fuck.
You made love.
And that’s what makes it hard to leave his bed right now.
But the sudden shrill ring of your phone engulfs the room. Your eyes widen as you look over the nightstand, expecting your phone there only to see nothing. As the ring continues to disrupt the silence, you get out of the bed in haste, stumbling as you lift sheets and clothes from here and there. When you find it flickering on the floor, your eyes almost fall off when you see your dad’s name flashing on the screen.
Shit.
You’re supposed to be at home, in your own space, probably working on your makeup by now, to prepare for your first day as an editor in your dad’s publishing company.
As you swipe on the screen to answer the call, you cast the stranger a look.
Another shit. He’s shifting on the bed, groaning as if irritated by the noise just a second ago. But you have no time to worry about him right now. Your father is your concern. You’ve witnessed him hissed in annoyance many times whenever you arrive late and you hate it.
“Dad?” you whisper the second you press the phone to your ear. Your eyes remain glued on the stranger who is now tangled on the sheets, quiet and still on the mattress. Good. At least, you don’t have to act like a girlfriend departing from the plane when you get out.
“Shortcake, finally.” Despite the hint of frustration in his voice, you hear your dad’s sigh of relief from the other line. “You weren’t answering my calls or your mom’s. I got worried.”
You titter and look away from the man. You start collecting your discarded clothes on the floor instead.
“Well, I, uh… Sorry, Dad. I overslept,” you murmur as you sandwich the phone between your shoulder and your cheek while slipping into your lace underwear. You throw the stranger another look. He’s still in a deep slumber.
“But I’ll be there in a few, I promise!”
You hear another sigh from his end. You can already picture the tiny lines appearing between his eyebrows while massaging the bridge of his nose. You smile nervously despite his absence.
“I told you to be early, shortcake.”
“I know, Dad, I know. I hear you — hold on.” You toss the phone to the bed and slip on the dress in quiet rush and tie the thin strap behind your neck in a messy ribbon.
As soon as you pick up your phone, the man on the bed shifts once more. Sighing as he lies on his back, he runs a hand over his face. Your gaze widens and you freeze from where you’re standing. At this point, you don’t know whom to pay attention to anymore. Talking with new people has always been awkward to you. What more with the person you just met and made love with?
Your father’s voice cuts through your thoughts, calling your name. He sounds calm but you don’t miss the underlying irritation that’s starting to build in him.
“I will really be there in a few. I promise, Dad! I’m changing now.” He isn’t even mad yet but you know better than to trigger it. Once he loses his patience, it never goes right. It’s always a bad thing.
“Make it quick. Everyone in the office is expecting you already.”
Once the call ends, you grab your stilettos on the floor. You slump on the foot of the bed, strapping the heels around your ankles in rush when a pair of arms snake around your waist. You stop mid-strap and turn to the man with wide eyes. He flashes you a smirk.
“Leaving already?” he murmurs before pressing a quick kiss on your cheek. Collecting your thoughts, his lips start trailing from your ear down to your jaw and neck. It is languid and gentle like last night. Too affectionate for someone who’s supposed to be just a fleeting moment.
You know you shouldn’t expect anything from this. He’s just a random stranger you had a good talk and good fuck with. But you can’t move away. You can’t push him away. You like how his lips are worshipping you again.
Does the morning after usually go like this?
“I have to go to work.” The low murmur was immediately followed by your thick swallow.
He hums in response but the way he pulls you closer against his chest, his arms tightening around you, and continues the slow kisses to your shoulder blade say otherwise. You hold his forearm but your palm is just there, warmth spreading over his skin, and not pushing away. The wake of his mouth leaves warmth and tingles on your skin, making you fold.
You’re feeling his kisses sober and that makes the tingle even more precise, more passionate, and more burning.
“I really have to go.” But the urgency in your voice is too soft. In fact, it sounds completely reluctant. The way you stroke his arm only contrasts your own words.
“Let me at least make you some breakfast.”
Your breath hitches when his slender fingers wrap around your neck, tilting your head up a bit to give himself a better access as he kisses your jaw and beneath your ear. You swallow thickly and squeeze your eyes shut, your teeth digging deeper to your bottom lip to suppress the whimper that almost spills.
“Fuck,” he murmurs with a loud exhale. His nose nuzzles against your skin as he continues the kisses to the side of your neck. “You smell so sweet.”
Without a warning, he carries you to his lap without breaking the kiss. His hands slide from your waist to the valley of your breast, pulling you closer while the other slips to the hem of your dress to squeeze your thigh. The kiss becomes hungrier; hastier as if a second of not tasting you will kill him.
But you really need to pull away. You need to say no. Seriously.
Your father is already expecting you in a few. As the daughter of the company you’re working for, you should make a good impression to not embarrass your old man who prides himself as someone responsible, wise, and precise.
But your body says otherwise.
So, you throw your head back, tugging on his hair while clutching on the sheets. He takes that as an opening to turn you around, making you straddle him. You waste no time and cradle his face in an instant. The eagerness is evident in both your actions. You crash your mouth against his while his hands roam around in any patch of skin he can knead and squeeze, until it settles to one of your breasts. He looks down to your chest and pushes the fabric aside, exposing the peak of your bosom.
You gasp softly when his lips wrap around it, sucking it like a starved man ― like he didn’t had a taste last night; the other’s pushing the dress aside so he can feel the soft skin on your other bosom. As if on instinct, you grind on him while stroking his nape and tugging on his hair to anchor yourself. Soft moan escapes your lips when you feel the swell on his pants trace your clothed slit. He caresses your breast and punctuates the other with a loud pop before giving the same attention to the one he’s kneading earlier.
Your breathing becomes heavier. But who are you to complain when he’s giving you exactly what you want? Like he just read your mind.
But hell, you still have some work waiting for you. So, you pull away and get off of him, breathless.
“I really need to go,” you manage to gasp as you shift your dress to cover what he just reveals earlier. You grab your purse while brushing the stray of your hair.
“With that?” He scans your dress with a quick glance as he runs his fingers through his long raven hair. But before you can utter a word, he already throws you his blazer from last night, which you clumsily catch. You blink in confusion, eyes flickering from him to the blazer.
“Let me at least get you a cab,” he mutters as he heaves out a sigh. He doesn’t need to say a word. You hear it from his soft groan that he wants more and he’s obviously not pleased by the abrupt cessation.
“Just check on your manuscript.” He is about to kick his feet off of the floor when he hears that.
You remember. Of course, you’d remember him rambling about him sending his novel’s manuscript to a publishing company today. You sound so eager when he’s talking about books and that he’s a writer. At least he tries to be.
“Thanks for… um…” You just raise the blazer to show him as your cheeks heat up.. Not of embarrassment but of the butterflies in your stomach that can’t get the idea that you shouldn’t be hopeful and blissful over a man you just had a one-night pleasure with.
So, before you can stick harder to the tiny spark of hope that he wants more than just a fleeting moment, you turn your back and rush toward the door.
No proper goodbyes or proper gratitude for the night you shared ― if that even makes sense. It’s easier to let go that way. At least, for you who get attached easily.