The morning sunlight filtered softly through the sheer curtains, painting the bedroom in shades of gold and cream. The air was warm and slow, thick with the faint scent of lavender from the candle Mio had burned last night — the same candle that now sat melted halfway down on the bedside table.
Claude stirred first. His body ached pleasantly, every muscle reminding him of the "punishment" he'd endured — or perhaps enjoyed — only a few hours ago. He turned his head to look at Mio, whose hair spilled over the pillow like black silk, her face calm, lips faintly curved as if even in her dreams she was winning some secret argument.
A soft chuckle escaped him. How does she manage to look so composed after everything?
But when Mio's eyelashes fluttered, he immediately composed himself, pretending to have just woken up too. Her eyes opened, meeting his gaze for a heartbeat before she turned away sharply, pulling the blanket higher as if the very sight of him was irritating.
