Just One Orgasm!

Adrian woke to warmth.

For one disorienting moment, he didn’t understand what had stirred him from sleep. The room was quiet, and washed in pale morning light that filtered through the brown curtains, painting soft golden lines across the ceiling.

Then he felt it.

A pair of gentle lips brushed against his chest, sucking lightly on his nipples.

His eyes opened slowly.

Emilia was lying beside him, her dark hair spilling over the pillow as she smiled to herself. The moment she realized he was awake, she lifted her head and pressed a lingering kiss against the side of his neck.

"Good morning," she whispered.

Adrian didn’t answer. Not immediately. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the window. It was morning.

His brows drew together ever so slightly.

Morning...

He blinked once, then again, almost as though he expected the light to disappear.

"I..." His voice was rough from sleep. "It’s morning."

Emilia laughed softly. "That’s usually what happens after nighttime." She jokingly pointed out.

He barely heard the joke. He was still staring at the sunlight. His chest rose slowly as the realization settled over him.

He had slept.

Not dozed off, or closed his eyes for an hour before waking again with a start then spending the night pacing his apartment while the rest of the city slept.

He had actually slept an entire night. The realization sat strangely in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

His gaze drifted back to Emilia.

She was already watching him, concern replacing her smile.

"Are you alright?"

He searched for an answer. "I..." His throat tightened unexpectedly. "...didn’t expect to wake up."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He shook his head gently. "Nothing."

She sensed the lie immediately. Instead of pressing him, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"My mum went out to buy groceries," she whispered. "We’ve got the house to ourselves for a little while."

Her words finally pulled him fully into the present.

She reached for her phone on the bedside table. Before she could stretch too far, Adrian’s fingers closed gently around her forearm.

She looked back.

His hand slid unconsciously to the bare skin of her waist.

He smiled to himself. "Are you still sore?"

A blush crept across Emilia’s cheeks. She gave a tiny nod.

"A little?" He asked gently.

She laughed under her breath. "That’s a very optimistic estimate."

His expression softened with immediate concern. "I’m sorry."

She raised a brow at him. "You don’t sound very sorry."

"I’m not sorry we were together." His thumb brushed lightly across her side. "I’m sorry I pushed you so far."

She smiled. "It was worth it."

He searched her face for another moment before carefully helping her settle back against the pillows.

"I don’t think I’m walking very gracefully today."

He chuckled under his breath.

She narrowed her eyes. "You’re enjoying this." She tried to sit up. The moment she shifted, she winced.

"Okay," she admitted. "Maybe more than a little. I need like an hour or two to myself."

Adrian chuckled quietly. "What?"

"I need a favour."

He nodded, and his expression turned serious. "Anything."

"My wardrobe."

He glanced toward it.

"I can’t exactly..." She gestured vaguely toward herself before laughing in embarrassment. "walk over there."

He stood, pulling on his trousers before crossing the room.

The wardrobe doors opened.

"Emilia." He called her.

"Hm?"

"How many cardigans do you own?"

She blinked. "A few."

He looked over his shoulder. "A few?"

His gaze returned to the wardrobe again. "There are at least..." He counted silently. "not less than twenty here. And I’m sure you have more in school."

She covered her face with a pillow. "Don’t judge me."

"I’m trying very hard not to."

She peeked over the pillow. "It’s a habit."

He pulled a bright yellow one from its hanger.

"A habit with remarkable consistency."

She smiled sheepishly. "I got bullied a lot in secondary school."

His teasing expression disappeared instantly.

"They used to make comments." She looked down at the blanket. "They said my body looked... inappropriate, and would distract the boys."

Her fingers twisted together. "So I started wearing oversized cardigans." She shrugged. "They covered my hips."

She paused briefly.

"I guess I never stopped."

Adrian looked down at the cardigan in his hands before looking back at her.

His voice was quiet. "Foolish people." He cursed.

She smiled sadly. "I know that now."

He walked back to the bed, sat beside her, and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"They made you hide something that never needed hiding."

Her eyes met his.

"For what it’s worth..." He handed her the cardigan. "I hope one day you wear these because you like them."

His thumb brushed gently against her cheek.

"And not because someone convinced you there was something wrong with you."

Emilia looked at him for a long moment, then she smiled. "I think," she whispered, "I’m starting to believe that."

Emilia held the cardigan against her chest for another moment before looking up at him.

"So..."

"So?"

She smiled sheepishly. "I still have one problem."

Adrian raised a brow. "And what’s that?"

She looked toward the bedroom door before looking back at him.

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

She folded her arms. "I don’t appreciate being laughed at."

"I’m not laughing at you."

"You absolutely are."

"The corners of your mouth say otherwise."

He pressed his lips together, attempting, and failing, to hide another smile.

She threw the nearest pillow at him. It bounced harmlessly against his chest before falling onto the mattress.

"Violence?" he asked.

"It was justified."

"So the jury has already reached a verdict?"

"I’m the jury."

"And the judge?"

"I’m that too."

He shook his head with quiet amusement before walking around to the side of the bed.

"Come here."

She looked at him suspiciously. He turned around and bent slightly at the knees.

"Hop on."

Emilia blinked. "What?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Piggyback."

She stared at him, dazed. "You can’t be serious."

"I’m entirely serious."

"Adrian..."

"You said you can’t walk."

"I can now."

He waited. "Eventually." His smile widened.

He looked over his shoulder again, one eyebrow raised. "Why survive the journey when you can enjoy it?"

She bit back another smile. She sighed in exaggerated defeat.

"You’ll never let me live this down, will you?"

"Probably not."

Still smiling, she carefully shuffled closer to the edge of the bed.

She hesitated, then wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders.

"Ready?"

"As I’ll ever be." He slid one arm beneath each of her thighs and lifted her effortlessly onto his back.

A surprised giggle escaped her lips.

"Oh..." She instinctively tightened her hold around his shoulders. "You make this look far too easy."

"You don’t weigh much."

"I was hoping you’d say that."

"I was telling the truth."

She rested her chin lightly on his shoulder, smiling to herself. He took a step toward the bedroom door, then another.

As she adjusted her grip, the cardigan slipped slightly from one shoulder.

Her eyes drifted across the tattooed skin of his back.

Just beneath his left arm, her eyes landed on a small circular scar. The scar looked faded, and old, yet perfectly rounded. It seemed as if the tattoos tried to cover it, but couldn’t.

Her smile disappeared. She frowned. "Adrian."

"Emilia."

She reached out instinctively, her fingertips hovering just above the mark without touching it.

"What’s this?"

He stopped walking for a fraction of a second. His eyes lowered almost imperceptibly. "What is that?"

She pointed gently. "That."

He followed her gaze. His expression became unreadable. "Nothing important."

She frowned harder. "It looks like a cigarette burn."

Silence fell between them. A long one. Finally, he gave the smallest shrug.

"It happened a long time ago."

"How?"

He resumed walking. "Someone careless."

She knew immediately it wasn’t the truth. "Adrian..."

"It healed."

"That’s not what I asked."

"It healed, Emilia."

He reached the bathroom doorway and carefully lowered her onto her feet just enough for her to hold onto the vanity.

When she looked back at him, he was already reaching for the light switch.

The warm light flooded the room. He turned toward her with the same calm expression he’d worn all morning.

"I’ll tell you someday."

She searched his face. "You promise?"

He held her gaze for a quiet moment before nodding once.

"I promise."

Something in his voice told her not to ask again. Not because he was unwilling, but because she could feel how whatever had left that scar belonged to a part of his life he wasn’t ready to open yet.

So instead, she reached for his hand.

Their fingers intertwined naturally with quiet understanding.

He squeezed her hand once, grateful that she had let the silence remain exactly what it needed to be.

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