I wake up warm.

Too warm.

Wrapped in something solid and comfortable and—

Oh.

Bael’s arms.

I’m still pressed against his chest, his arm still around my waist like it was when I fell asleep last night, and for a moment I just lie there, not moving, barely breathing.

Last night comes back in vivid detail.

Getting on my knees, begging him to "reward" me, the sounds I made, the things I said.

Oh god.

My face heats up immediately, and I’m grateful he can’t see it from this angle.

But underneath the embarrassment, there’s something else.

Something softer.

The memory of how he held me after, how he cleaned me up gently, how he pulled me close like he wanted me there.

Like I belonged there.

My chest feels tight in a way that has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with hope.

Dangerous hope.

Because last time...

Last time he held me like this, the next morning he’d pulled away.

Created distance.

Told me not to come to his office like I was some kind of nuisance he needed to manage.

What if this is the same?

What if he wakes up and regrets it and goes back to being cold and distant and treating me like an obligation he’s tired of managing?

What if last night was just... physical?

Just scratching an itch?

My heart is starting to race for entirely different reasons now.

Panic, maybe.

Fear.

The kind that makes you want to run before you can be rejected.

Bael stirs beneath me.

I feel it, the shift in his breathing, the slight movement of his arm, the way his body starts waking up.

I don’t think, I just scramble.

Try to push myself up and away before he’s fully awake, before he can pull back first, before I have to see that distance settle into his expression...

My legs don’t cooperate at all.

The moment I try to stand, pain shoots through my thighs, my ass, everything below my waist, and I nearly collapse back onto the bed.

Sore.

I’m so fucking sore.

Right.

Because Bael fucked me thoroughly last night.

Twice.

Very thoroughly.

I manage to stay upright through sheer stubbornness, gritting my teeth against the ache, and start moving toward the bathroom.

Not running, can’t run.

I’m walking very carefully like an old man.

This is humiliating.

"Do you need help bathing?"

Bael’s voice comes from behind me, lazy and amused, and I can hear the smirk in it without even looking.

Teasing.

He’s teasing me.

"No!" I shout back, not turning around.

I keep walking, just get to the bathroom.

I make it to the doorway, step inside, and close the door behind me with maybe more force than necessary.

I lean against the door and breathe.

My heart is pounding, my face is burning, and my legs are screaming at me, and all I can think is...

Wait.

I pause, processing what just happened.

Bael offered to help me bathe.

Teasing, yes, but he offered.

He’s not... pulling away, not creating distance, not acting like last night was just a bonus he gave me.

He’s teasing me about it.

Which means...

What does that mean?

I turn slowly, hand still on the door, and pull it open just a crack.

Peek out.

Bael is still sitting on the bed where I left him, but he’s shifted now like he’s about to stand up.

He looks up when he hears the door open, one eyebrow raising slightly.

Waiting.

I swallow.

"Um..."

This is stupid.

This is so stupid.

But I can’t help it.

"Maybe... you could help?"

The words come out quieter than I intended, and I can feel my face heating up again, but I don’t take them back.

Bael’s expression shifts.

That smirk gets wider, more pronounced, and there’s something in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.

"Really?"

He stands up slowly, deliberately, and starts walking toward me.

"Make sure you don’t regret it, Runze," he says, voice dropping lower, "because I’m going to wash you thoroughly."

Oh.

Oh no.

I know that tone.

I know what that means.

And suddenly I’m very aware that I might have made a terrible mistake.

I start to close the door... self-preservation kicking in, but Bael is already there.

His hand catches the door before I can shut it, pushes it open easily despite my attempt to hold it closed, and then his other hand is on my neck.

Steadying me, holding me in place.

"How about we start by washing your mouth?" he murmurs, leaning down.

And then he’s kissing me.

Deep and thorough.

The kind of kiss that makes my knees go weak, makes me forget why I was trying to close the door in the first place.

His tongue slides against mine, demanding, and I can’t help the small sound that escapes me, can’t help the way I lean into him despite every sore muscle protesting.

When he pulls back, I’m breathless.

Dizzy.

Already lost.

"Turn around," he says quietly.

I do.

Can’t help it, can’t refuse him anything when he sounds like that, looks like that, touches me like that.

The shower turns on behind me, water heating up, and then his hands are on me again.

Guiding me under the spray.

Washing me.

Except "washing" isn’t really the right word for what happens next.

***

By the time we’re done... by the time he’s done with me, I’m even more exhausted than I was last night.

Boneless.

Thoroughly fucked.

Again.

The bathroom counter has new memories now.

So does the shower wall.

I can barely stand, and Bael has to half-carry me back to the bedroom, has to help me get dressed because my hands are shaking too much to manage buttons.

This is ridiculous.

I’m ridiculous.

But I can’t even find it in myself to be embarrassed anymore.

Too tired.

Too satisfied.

Too... happy.

***

Bael is getting ready to leave for work, fully dressed now, tie perfect, jacket on, looking completely unaffected by the fact that he just fucked me senseless in the bathroom, when there’s a knock on the bedroom door.

His driver.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, still trying to convince my legs to work properly, when the driver hands Bael something.

A cushion.

Soft, ergonomic-looking, the kind designed for sitting comfort.

Bael takes it without comment, dismisses the driver with a nod, then turns to me.

"For your chair," he says simply, holding it out. "You’ll need it."

It takes me a second to understand.

Then it hits.

He got me a cushion for sitting, because he knows I’m sore, because he knows I have to work all day and sitting is going to be painful and he thought ahead and arranged for this.

Something warm floods through my chest.

Not heat.

Not arousal.

Something softer.

Sweeter.

More dangerous.

I stand up carefully, and move toward him.

The driver is still visible in the hallway.

Bael is holding the cushion out like it’s nothing, like this is a completely normal practical thing and not something that makes my heart feel three sizes too big for my chest.

I don’t care.

I don’t care that the driver can see, don’t care that this is probably inappropriate.

I just get up on my toes... which hurts, everything hurts, but I don’t care about that either... and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"That’s a reward for you!" I say, grabbing the cushion from his hands.

Then I turn and basically flee.

Well.

Walk quickly.

As quickly as my sore legs will allow.

Toward the study, clutching the cushion to my chest, heart pounding so loud I can hear it in my ears.

Behind me, I hear nothing.

No response.

No reaction.

I don’t look back.

Can’t look back.

If I look back and see regret or discomfort or distance settling into his expression, it’ll ruin everything.

So I just keep going.

I make it to the study, close the door behind me, lean against it.

And breathe.

My face is burning.

My heart is racing.

My whole body aches in ways that are going to make sitting down interesting for the next few days.

And I kissed him.

I just... kissed him.

In front of his driver.

Without asking.

Without thinking.

I just did it because I wanted to, because he got me a cushion, because he didn’t pull away this morning, because he fucked me in the shower and then made sure I’d be comfortable working afterward.

I slide down to sit on the floor, cushion still clutched in my arms.

Look at it.

It’s nice.

High quality, probably expensive, definitely thoughtful.

I press my face against it and try to calm my racing heart.

This is bad.

So bad.

Because this isn’t just a passing feeling anymore... and I don’t know how to undo it.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to protect myself.

I’m not sure when that happened, but it’s real now.

And if he changes again...

I don’t think I’ll recover from it twice.