The moment her eyes fluttered open and found mine, something in my chest tightened.
I leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss against her lips. She responded slowly, still wrapped in sleep, her warmth soft and inviting as she let out a quiet sigh and nuzzled closer.
"What time is it?" she murmured.
I glanced at my phone. "About 12:15."
Her gaze drifted around the room, catching the soft blue glow of the nightlight. Shadows stretched along the walls, quiet and still—but in that light, she looked almost unreal.
"Have you been… watching me sleep?" she teased.
I shook my head, smiling faintly. "No. I just woke up. I was… admiring you."
Her lips curved, playful. "Cheeky."
I kissed her again—soft at first, then slower, deeper. She melted into it, her breath catching as the air between us shifted, thickening with something unspoken.
Her hand found mine. I pulled her closer, my heart pounding hard enough I was sure she could feel it.
There was hesitation in me—fear of going too far, of breaking something fragile between us—but she leaned into me, fingers threading into my hair, her quiet response undoing every ounce of restraint I had left.
"I think we should stop," I whispered, pulling back just slightly.
She shook her head, her voice trembling. "I don't want to."
"Camila…"
"Please."
The way she said it—soft, certain—made it impossible to look away.
"I don't want to ruin this," I admitted quietly.
"You won't," she said, her eyes steady on mine. "You could never ruin me."
For a moment, I just looked at her—really looked at her—and something in me settled.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
She nodded.
That was all it took.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, then along her cheek, lingering at her lips before finding them again. Slower this time. Intentional. Careful.
Everything after that blurred into warmth and closeness and the quiet learning of each other—unsteady at first, then certain. Every movement, every touch, guided by a need that wasn't just physical, but something deeper. Something that felt dangerously close to permanent.
And when the night finally stilled, we lay tangled together, breathless and quiet, the world outside forgotten.
The Next Morning
Camila woke slowly.
At first, it was just the warmth—soft, steady, surrounding her. Then the faint ache in her body, unfamiliar but not unwelcome, grounding her in something real.
Her eyes opened gradually.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Anthony was still asleep beside her.
She turned her head slightly, just enough to look at him.
He looked… different like this.
Softer.
Unaware.
The tension he always seemed to carry was gone, replaced by something calm, almost boyish. A loose strand of hair had fallen across his forehead, and his breathing was slow, even.
Her gaze traced his face—his jaw, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep, the curve of his lips.
Last night flickered through her mind.
The way he had looked at her. The way he had hesitated. The way he had stopped—for her—even when it was the last thing he wanted.
Her chest tightened.
"I love you," she whispered, so quietly it barely made a sound.
She shifted slightly—and winced.
Okay… definitely sore.
A small, almost disbelieving laugh escaped her as she pressed her face into the pillow for a second, equal parts embarrassed and overwhelmed.
But beneath the discomfort was something else.
Happiness.
Not fleeting. Not uncertain.
Full. Warm. Real.
She turned back to him, studying his face again, like she was trying to memorize it.
Her fingers hovered for a second before she gently brushed that strand of hair away from his forehead.
He stirred slightly but didn't wake.
Her heart melted.
How did I get so lucky?
She stayed there like that, just watching him, letting the quiet morning wrap around them—knowing, with a certainty that almost scared her—
Nothing about this felt like a mistake.