Warm sunlight kisses my skin softly, almost too cozy, too warm, too safe.
Even before opening my eyes, my entire body aches. My head feels like someone split it open, my lower body stiff, my legs heavy.
A soft warmth of breathing fans my neck, sending a tingling shiver down my spine. A warm, heavy weight presses against me, and I slowly open my eyes, despite my better judgment.
My entire body freezes as I look down, my breathing halting, every nerve alert.
Aaron Erikson is sleeping on my chest, his warm body pressed against me, my arms around his head and back, one leg thrown over his waist. His soft raven hair is messy, eyes closed, breathing softly… too peacefully for the war in my mind when I remembered last night.
I remember how I threw myself on him after seeing my ex downstairs, feeling the need to forget everything. The way he held me down, telling me not to pull him this close. His hands tender, his lips warm against my skin, almost reverent.
We revealed pieces of ourselves—he shared parts of his past while I told him the story behind my scars.
For hours, we were all over each other. I came undone so many times in his arms, pleasure and temptation shadowing my mind.
I slept with him. The man who somehow managed to breach the carefully tended fortress I had built around my heart.
Unconsciously, I hold him tighter. Somehow his big frame fits against my smaller one like I've been carved for him. He looks serene, almost too serene.
My heart squeezes in pain, in regret, in my inability to wait for him to wake up and face whatever happened last night.
It was a mistake… the worst mistake I've ever made.
If it were just another one-night stand, I'd have left without looking back. But how do I leave when I'll see him at the office tomorrow? How do I make sense of this situation, this heart that's beating fast for someone…
No. I can't. I can't stay. I can't let my heart soften and weaken for someone else again. I won't survive that pain a second time.
I look down at his face, his cheeks pressed against the swell of my chest, lips slightly parted. He doesn't know the effect he's had on me since day one. I barely know him. I barely understand the man whose body is full of scars and wounds, yet somehow he is gentle with me.
Tears well in my eyes, a shaky breath escapes as I inhale him. Something fresh—citrus, cider—mixed with vanilla and lavender. His hair soft and glossy, eyelashes longer than most men, skin soft and glassy.
He is beautiful. Too serene for my chaos.
I slowly pull away, my heart aching, my throat tight with the weight of the scenarios to come. He'll probably hate me and think I used him. He might be petty at work, making life miserable. He may never hold my hand like he did during my panic attack.
Or maybe he won't even remember last night. He was drunk, after all. Maybe he doesn't care.
Even with that face, body, and size, I'm surprised he isn't egoistic. I've seen men prideful over far less.
My cheeks burn as I dress, my legs trembling from last night. "Nghh!" I whimper while wearing my shoes, covering my mouth like a thief.
"Already sneaking out, Princess?"
I freeze mid-heel, his voice rough yet playful, deep enough to twist my stomach. My throat dries, chest pounding. I hear the rustle of bedsheets and unconsciously lick my lips.
"Hmmm, seems like you can't walk," he chuckles, his voice raw with amusement. I clench my eyes tight, embarrassment creeping in, and slowly turn.
There he stands. Aaron Erikson. Bare torso carrying the bites and hickeys I left last night—the same man I called the most delicious steak I've ever had.
I gulp as our eyes meet. His blue eyes are brighter, clearer, with a strange softness, just like last night.
"I-I…" I stutter, and he chuckles softly, my heart doing stupid jumps seeing him relaxed, younger than when his expression is grim and cold.
"Nervous?" he tilts his head, hands clasped behind him, taking slow steps toward me.
"I-I am-m not nervous!"
His grin widens with each stutter. I tug at the hem of my dress, conscious of the love bites on my skin, how my knees go weak remembering his body pressed against mine.
"You are stuttering, Princess," he teases, keeping a measured distance.
Sunlight spills through the window, the air conditioner hums, incense lingers from last night, and the red curtain flutters. The room bears witness to what we did. Some sins are better left in the night they were committed.
I lift my chin, gathering courage to close my heart before things get serious. "Forget it. Forget whatever happened last night," I say coldly, voice clipped.
His eyelashes flutter, the spark in his eyes dimming, his grin fading. His Adam's apple wobbles. Somehow, it makes my heart clench.
"This is best," I tell myself. Best for me, best for him.
"You needed pleasure. I needed escape. We were drunk. This was a mistake," I add, still pretending last night didn't make me feel cherished, desired, safe.
His jaw clenches, veins in his neck pop, he rolls his tongue in his mouth. A breath of disbelief escapes as he steps closer, dipping his head.
"Are you calling it a mistake?" he dares.
"Yes," I lie. It wasn't a mistake, but if one lie could save me from heartbreak, I'd repeat it a thousand times.
His eyes darken, hand finding my chin, holding my head up. My body freezes at his sudden dominance and raw intensity.
"Forget it?" He scoffs, voice shaking slightly. "No, Princess." His grip tightens, he leans closer, our breaths mingling. My heart skips.
"You can rewrite this one night a million times, yet I refuse to forget how I marked you as mine."
My eyes widen, his finger trembling on my skin, emotions raw on his face. I almost lean into his touch, but then remember my ex's eyes from last night—the disdain, the judgment.
Aaron will do the same. Everyone does. Why would he be different?
I grab his wrist, burying the wavering in my soul under logic, past, and fear.
"Mr. Erikson, last night was just a hookup between two drunk people. I do not want to bear the weight of a drunk accident," I say, voice steady, hands firm.
His lips part, eyes full of pain and shattered hope. "It meant nothing to you?" he whispers, voice nearly broken.
"Nothing."
He bites his lower lip hard, a sneak peek of vulnerability that makes my heart ache.
"Right… why would it mean anything to you?" His smile is bitter. Thumb brushing my jaw lightly, searching for a crack in my mask—and finding none.
He releases my jaw, steps back, running fingers through his hair. I hear ragged breaths. I expect yelling, accusations, a scene. But instead…
"I understand, Princess," he says softly, voice shaky, raw with pain.
I look away, unable to bear the weight of his grace. I grab my bag, hand on the doorknob.
"Last night…" he pauses, voice softened, "it was not a mistake in my book. I chose to spend that night with you consciously. Don't diminish it to mere pleasure-seeking."
I grip the doorknob, forcing myself not to turn and run into his arms.
"That sounds like a you problem, Mr. Erikson. See you in the office tomorrow. I hope you won't hold it against me."
I open the door, spine straight, walking back into my fortress. Mending the slight creak inside.
And my heart scream in void silence...
I am sorry.
I am sorry, Aaron.
I've been broken too many times to hope for more from someone I barely know.
I am too weak to risk heartbreak all over again.
I am sorry.