My senses were tingling. I didn't know why I had been feeling this way since the afternoon, but the unease hadn't left me. It latched onto my skin like humidity, silent and unwelcome. There was no reason for it, at least none I could name. But something was making me nervous.
I kept my eyes on the screen, tried to laugh when he did, and focused on the show just enough to distract my mind. Slowly, the heaviness dulled. Not gone—but dimmed, pushed to the back of my head where it couldn't claw at me for a while.
After wrapping up, we finally went to bed. He barely got under the blanket before he was out cold, his breathing already slowing. I eased in next to him, wrapping my arm gently around his waist and pulling myself close.
Just to feel that he was there.
Warm, breathing, safe. No need to be scared. His presence was enough to make me relax and drift off.
Chirp. Chirp.
Chirp. Chirp.
My eyes opened, slow and sluggish. The soft sound of birds filled the room. A gentle reminder that the night was over. I didn't move right away. Just lay there, feeling the warmth, the way my body had clung to his in my sleep.
My leg was tossed over his hips, one of my arms tucked against his chest. I pushed myself up a little, careful not to wake him. The blanket shifted as I sat up. My eyes landed on his face again, and I... couldn't look away. He looked like he always did—messy hair, skin still warm with sleep, mouth slightly opened. God. He still looked like the man I fell in love with. The man I still loved.
Even if I did those things… even if I let myself be touched by someone else… It doesn't change this. It doesn't change what I feel for him.
What I feel when I'm next to him—no one else can make me feel that. That comfort. That calm. That safety. What I did was ugly. Filthy. But what I feel for him never was. Never will be.
I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His skin was soft under my lips.
He's still my sunshine.
And no matter how far I drift, that light won't belong to anyone else.
I slipped out of bed quietly and headed toward the bathroom, but I couldn't help the small smile stretching at my lips, a restless thrill already forming in my chest at what the day might bring.
Few hours later~
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Done. The clock chimed, and just like that—it was time for my so-called cooking lesson.
I slipped out of the house, and started walking toward his place. It felt... better than before. And my steps—there was a bounce in them. Like I wasn't dragging myself anymore. Halfway down the street, I caught myself smiling.
Was it confidence? Or something else?
Maybe freedom was the better word. Whatever it was—it felt damn good.
As I approached the gate, I spotted Lina already there, head buried in her phone. Probably waiting for me. I slowly crept closer and gave a sudden loud bark behind her back.
She jumped so hard she almost dropped her phone.
"Jesus!" she shrieked, clutching her chest. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"
I doubled over laughing, practically wheezing. "You should've seen your face," I said between laughs. "I swear, you nearly pissed yourself."
I was laughing so hard I had to grab the gate to steady myself.
"God, You're such a freak," she muttered, but she was laughing too, swatting my arm like an annoyed sister.
Still giggling, I leaned on the gate, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.
We made our way to the door. The door was already opened. Lina didn't wait. She marched right in without knocking, not even hesitating, like she owned the place. "Let's go, slowpoke," she tossed over her shoulder, her laughter still trailing behind.
I followed, but slower. I stepped in and glanced around. The hallway was empty. A faint hum of the ceiling fan, the ticking of a clock. No sign of him yet.
Lina's footsteps faded as she disappeared into the kitchen, calling out something I couldn't quite catch. I stood there, letting my eyes wander through the living room. A pair of slippers by the corner. A half-folded towel draped carelessly over the sofa's armrest.
"Hellooo," a voice called out, suddenly right behind me.
I flinched so hard, my heart nearly leapt out of my mouth. My whole body jumped.
"Oops, sorry about that," he said quickly, his voice low but amused. I could already hear the grin in it.
I turned to him, heart pounding, trying to breathe normally. He was standing very close. That scent again, the faint masculine warmth of his body mixing with something cleaner.
"Alright, let's go," he said, slipping his arm around my shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. His tone was casual, but there was no mistaking the possessiveness in the way he held me. Like I belonged there, under his arm.
My face burned. My stomach twisted in shame—and something else. I could've shrugged him off. But I didn't. I let his arm stay there, heavy and confident, as he guided me forward like a friend escorting me down a hallway.
Each step felt heavier. My heart thudded against my chest with every movement. He kept his voice low, just barely murmuring next to my ear, "You're tense."
I didn't answer. Didn't need to.
His hand shifted down, fingers slowly spreading over my chest. Our steps grew slower, like we wanted to take as much time as possible before entering into the kitchen.
His hand played with them. He lifted, dropped, and squeezed very gently without a hint of shame, like this was something very normal between us. He wasn't in a hurry, just savoring the feel in his palm. His fingers slow pulled the edge of my bra, then gave a slow shake.
"You really don't get it, do you?" he murmured close to my ear, his voice deep, quiet. "Out of all the women I've had my hands on… yours," he gave my breast a firmer squeeze, "are something else. These tits are in a completely different league"
I swallowed thickly. My legs got even slower. I was aroused, my nipples already stiff under the bra. My skin was buzzing.
My chest throbbed, like his words alone squeezed my tits harder than his hand. Shame hit me right after, but it didn't stop the way my body reacted.
Better than the others. I couldn't stop thinking about that. He's been with women. Slept with them. Touched them. And yet he was here, holding mine, saying these were different. His fingers pressing through the fabric, grabbing me like he wanted to prove it.
I felt good. Fuck, I shouldn't have. But it felt good hearing that. Knowing that whatever they had, whatever he felt with them—it wasn't this. It wasn't me.
My tits were making him say things. Making him slow his walk just to touch more. Making him grab and squeeze like he couldn't help it. Like I was driving him crazy.
And I… was letting him.
I barely noticed that we were just a few steps from the kitchen now. I could hear Lina humming softly inside.
He let go of my breasts just as quickly and walked into the kitchen. I followed a second later, heart still pounding, and quietly took my place beside Lina, who was busy rummaging through a basket of vegetables.
Nothing more happened after that. Even with Lina busy sorting vegetables and her back turned half the time, he didn't make another move. I stayed close to him, close enough that all he had to do was reach out. My arm brushed his once. Then again. But nothing. Not even a glance.
A small flicker of irritation twisted in my chest. I don't know why. Maybe because I'd gotten used to the way he touches me, the way he acts like he owns the moment. But deep down, I understood. It was risky. Too risky, with her right there.
Still… I was surprised by how little I cared. The shame, the guilt—none of it weighed as heavy as it used to. I just stood there, pretending to help, feeling the heat between us quietly simmer.
All we needed was an excuse. Just something. Anything to get her to look away, walk out, get a call—anything that would pull Lina's eyes off us for even a second.
For the first time, I actually wanted her to say something dumb, something dirty, loudly, about me and him. I was hoping she'd come up with one of her stupid games again—something silly, careless, anything that could give us even a moment to stay close, to sneak in a touch.
But no. Not today.
Today, she was sharp. Too sharp. No stupid statements. No awkward giggles. Just full-on chef mode, laser-focused on the dish like her life depended on it. Meanwhile, I stood there, trying not to let the growing tension inside me spill out.
And then finally, we were done. The food was plated, the kitchen cleaned, Lina beaming like she'd won a contest.
She laughed. She celebrated.
And I stood there, feeling like I lost something. Like I was waiting for something that never came. Frustrated. Defeated. Just a little empty.