FELICITY'S POV.
I woke up warm. Not blanket-warm. Not someone left the radiator on warm.
No—this was Christopher warm. Which could only mean one thing: I was in trouble.
I'd planned to wake up before him. Technically, I tried to wake up before him. And the worst—or best—part? His breath was already brushing the back of my neck in slow, steady waves, each exhale sending a ridiculous shiver down my spine.
His legs were tangled with mine, his chest pressed firmly against my back, trapping me in the most dangerously comfortable prison imaginable. Christopher held me like I might vanish if he loosened his grip—a strong arm locked around my waist, his face buried in my hair. Our bodies were so close, so entwined, I wasn't entirely sure where I ended and he began.
This was dangerous.
Not the "I might trip over my shoelaces" kind of danger—no, this was the perilous kind where a girl wakes up and realizes the boy she swore she'd never get too close to… has built an entire, impossibly safe little universe around her overnight.
And I might have been smiling. Just a little. I told myself not to move, because if I shifted even an inch, we'd both remember how dangerously comfortable this was. And I couldn't afford dangerously comfortable.
I was still in the middle of that lie when his voice—low, warm, sleepy, and unfairly sexy—brushed against my ear, vibrating straight through me.
So I stayed perfectly still, feigning sleep, because moving meant admitting last night actually happened. The laughter. The kisses that felt like promises. The whispers that might have been dreams—except I knew they weren't.
"Stop overthinking," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
Busted. I tried to turn, but his arm only tightened, locking me in place with that maddening mix of warmth and quiet authority that made my heart pound. My eyes snapped open. "How do you even know? I'm…I wasn't—"
"You were," he cut in without opening his eyes. "Your breathing changes when you're spiraling. You hold it like you're bracing for impact."
I blinked. "What?"
"Because when you're lost in your head, you do this little pause," he said, his breath warm against my ear. "Like you're holding it all in to stop yourself from feeling something."
Fantastic. Not only was I pinned, I was also completely exposed—read like a favorite novel he'd memorized. I hated that he knew that. I loved that he knew that.
"You're creepy," I muttered.
"You love it," he said, and before I could roll my eyes, his lips brushed mine—soft at first, like he was asking permission, then deeper, until breathing became irrelevant.
It wasn't urgent—at first. Just a soft, lazy brush of his lips, the kind that felt like a whisper against mine. But it deepened so slowly, so sneakily, that I almost didn't notice the shift… until I did. My breath caught. His hand slipped under my shirt, fingertips warm and possessive against my skin, his thumb tracing the curve of my hip. My brain fuzzed over.
We were supposed to get up. We had classes. An essay due. Real responsibilities. A whole life outside this bed. But when Christopher kissed me like that—slow, deliberate, with that grin against my mouth like he had all day to ruin me. I decided the rest of the world could wait.
"Hi," he murmured against my lips, voice still sleep-rough.
"Hi," I breathed back to play it cool.
Then he kissed me again anyway. Longer.
"Your mouth stinks," I teased when we broke apart and ruined the moment on purpose.
He gasped dramatically and pulled back with mock offense. "Wow. Brutal. Ah! I feel deeply offended."
"No, you won't. You'll survive. Go brush."
"Fine," he said, pretending to sulk. He smirked "But I don't have my toothbrush. Should I just use yours?"
I made a face. "Ew! Absolutely not. I have a spare for emergencies—like this. Ugh, you're so gross."
"No, see—that's not gross. I prefer the term resourceful," he teased, eyes glinting.
"Ugh."
"Nah," he said smugly, leaning in again. "You love me. I know you do. I can feel it."
"Oh, gosh." I groaned, rolling my eyes. But my smile gave me away.
We ended up brushing together, side by side—me trying not to laugh at the way he kept making faces in the mirror—before settling at the table with tea and pancakes.
"Did you know pancakes are my favorite? Just like you," I said, pretending it was new information.
He gasped dramatically. "What?! No way—" Then he grinned. "Just kidding. Of course I know."
"Ugh! You're so annoying and sweet at the same time. It's unfair."
He winked. "Best combination."
After breakfast, we showered at different times after that, yet even when the steam had cleaned and the air cooled, his touch still lingered on my skin—warming me with the memory of his hands and the slow, stolen glances that promised the day was far from over.
>>>>>
CHRISTOPHER'S POV.
Step one: Show up for her✓.
Step two: Try not to lose my mind✓.
Step three: Be the kind of man she can't stop thinking about.
If I could freeze time, I'd freeze this because it would be this moment—her, here, with me. If I could trap this feeling in a bottle, I'd guard it like treasure and never let it fade. Her hair was soft and tousled from sleep, her voice low and husky when she whispered my name, and she looked so impossibly, breathtakingly beautiful that it made my heart ache—like the kind of temptation I'd surrender my whole world for without a second thought.
I wanted to give her the fire, yes—but I also wanted the quiet mornings where she'd still be here, tangled up in me while the rest of the world fell away.
I wanted the arguments that would make us both storm out, only to come back. I wanted her sharp edges and her soft parts. The messy, unfiltered, real her. All of it. And if she let me, I'd take it.
But I also wanted the real parts of her. The days when she'd slam the door in my face. The moments she'd challenge me until my blood boiled. The arguments that would leave us pacing in separate rooms—only to end with me kissing her like my life depended on it.
I wanted the mess. The flaws.
The nights that hurt and the mornings that healed. I wanted everything.
She was studying me now—probably trying to read my mind, and I'd let her if I could. Because in this bed, in this stupidly small dorm room, we weren't the prince and the girl from the wrong side of the palace gates. We were just…us.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, her cheeks flushing.
"Because I'm trying to figure out the exact moment you became my favorite part of the day," I said without thinking.
Her blush deepened, her eyes softened just for a second. Then, because she's Felicity, she ruined the moment by shoving a pillow into my face.
"Immature," she declared.
"Menace," I shot back laughing.
She narrowed her eyes in mock offense. "Ah! Don't go getting all sentimental on me, Your Highness," she teased, even as the corner of her mouth curved into the smile that had me hooked in the first place.
I grabbed the pillow, tossed it aside and kissed her until her laughter melted into a breathless sigh, until her fingers curled into my shirt like she never wanted to let go. In that moment, there was no world beyond Felicity Paddington — only the taste of her smile, the warmth of her skin, and the way she made time itself feel irrelevant.
If I could have kept her in that morning forever, I would have. Because I wasn't just falling for her. I was already hopelessly, irreversibly gone.
We were seconds away from forgetting about the outside world completely when—
BANG. BANG. BANG. The door rattled violently.
"Felicity Paddington!" Penelope's voice rang through the corridor, every syllable laced with smug I-know-what-you're-up-to energy. "Don't make me use my spare key!"
Felicity buried her face in my chest with a groan. "She does not have a spare key."
I tilted my head, lips brushing her hair. "Pretty sure she does, love."
"No, she doesn't."
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"I have urgent girl business! And by urgent, I mean you might want to vacate that bed if you value your dignity!"
Felicity shot upright, hair tousled into a golden halo, shirt slightly askew. "Oh my gosh — she's insane."
I chuckled, reaching for my watch. "She's also about to come in here."
And just like that, our perfect morning dissolved into a storm of footsteps, threats, and one very determined sister.