The morning sunlight streams through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets. The room is warm, soft, filled with the kind of light that makes everything look dreamy and forgiving.
I stir slowly, my eyes fluttering open, blinking against the brightness. The ceiling comes into focus—familiar, ordinary.
I rub my eyes, wincing as my body protests the movement. A dull ache settles deep in my muscles, a pleasant soreness that whispers of last night's activities.
The memories rush back in a flood—heat and touch and the way his hands felt on my skin, the sounds I made, the way I fell apart under him completely.
My cheeks ignite. I press my palms against them, feeling the burn, then drag them up to cover my entire face.
Oh god. Oh no.
That was so embarrassing. I remember everything. Every single detail.
I squeeze my eyes shut behind my hands, as if that could erase the images playing on repeat in my mind.
