A Bad Boy in my life

Twenty six

As the room fell into a comfortable silence, Maxon and I found ourselves wrapped in the aftermath of our intimate moment. The weight of unspoken emotions hung in the air, and I yearned for a connection, a way to bridge the gap between us.

Sensing my need for reassurance, Maxon slowly untangled himself from my grasp and sat on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze lost in the contemplation of the room's walls.

Curiosity and vulnerability drove me forward, and I crawled toward him, encircling my arms around his shoulders from behind. My chin rested gently on his shoulder as I spoke, my voice barely a whisper.

"I just wanted to say... that I liked what happened," I confessed, my words carrying the weight of my emotions.

Maxon's hands instinctively found mine, holding them against his chest. He turned his head slightly, meeting my gaze with a soft smile that reached his eyes.

"I did too," he replied earnestly. The shared sentiment between us created a connection that transcended words.

A tender moment passed between us, and then Maxon leaned in for a lingering kiss. Our lips met, and as they eventually parted, our foreheads found solace in the closeness.

Sensing the silent invitation, Maxon asked if I wanted to spend the night. I nodded, my lower lip caught between my teeth, unsure of what the next step would bring.

"Okay. I'll take a shower," he offered, rising from the bed. "Do you want to join me?"

I glanced at the rumpled bedsheet, considering his proposition before responding, "I think I'll wait for you here."

He didn't press the matter and left the room. As I waited, my thoughts wandered, reflecting on the intimate moments we had just shared. The reality of it all sunk in, leaving a bittersweet anticipation in its wake.

Glancing at the bedsheet, I noticed a faint red stain, a testament to our connection. Recognizing the need to tidy up, I removed the duvet, leaving only the fitted sheet and pillows. Retrieving a blanket from the wardrobe, I prepared for Maxon's return, my mind still reeling from the intimacy we had experienced.

Minutes later, Maxon emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. Holding the blanket up to his neck, he presented a sight that would rival any Greek god. The thought of tomorrow's museum visit paled in comparison to the living masterpiece before me.

Concerned for my comfort, he inquired if I needed more pillows. Shaking my head, I assured him, "It's fine."

The room fell silent as he towel-dried his hair, the tension of unspoken words lingering between us. Searching for a way to break the silence, I turned my attention to our surroundings.

"This room is pretty big. It must have cost a fortune," I commented, attempting to fill the void with casual conversation.

Maxon shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know. I didn't pay for it."

Curiosity got the better of me, and I raised an eyebrow. "Who paid?" I asked, expecting an obvious answer. He chuckled, knowing the question was a loaded one.

"Karen... She's very generous," he explained, taking a deep breath before settling on the bed, still wrapped in his towel. His gaze met mine, and he gently caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers.

I couldn't deny the chill that had settled over me, and I nodded in response. "I'm a little cold," I admitted.

Without hesitation, Maxon made a move to retrieve another blanket, but I stopped him with a gentle touch on his arm. "No, I mean... I just need you."