Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
As you lay there, you felt his hands tightly wrapped around your body while his head nuzzled in your neck.
You were stiff in the bed, clearly uncomfortable with how close he was and how his hands occasionally touched your exposed skin.
As you gazed down, you noticed that Wriothesley was sleeping soundly, his breaths deep and even.
Occasionally, he would nibble on your soft skin with his sharp canines, a sign that he was having a particularly vivid dream.
You couldn't help but wonder how much longer he would sleep before waking up.
Recalling his promise to keep a respectful distance between you two, you debated whether to wake him up or quietly slip away.
As you continued to observe him, you couldn't help but notice the scars that littered his throat and arms.
Gently, you brushed a strand of his hair away, revealing a scar just under his right eye.
It made you wonder what kind of tasks and challenges he faced in his line of duty to bear these marks.
Your gentle touch caused Wriothesley to stir in his sleep, and he slowly blinked his eyes open, his gaze meeting yours with a sleepy, yet affectionate look.
He let out a tired yawn, his eyes still glassy from slumber.
Stretching, he pushed his hair out of his face and then leaned in closer to you.
His silver eyes locked onto yours, and he licked his lips, his intentions clear.
Uncertain of his motives, you mustered a forced smile and greeted him, "Good morning, Wriothesley."
He responded with a charming grin, "Morning, babe," before leaning down to capture your lips in a warm, morning kiss.
Your reaction was swift, a firm yet gentle punch to his head.
Wriothesley winced in pain, clutching his head with his hand.
"Ah... What was that for...?"
He looked at you, now fully awake, his eyes wide with realization as he took in the situation.
"Fuck... I'm sorry, I thought I was still dreaming," he mumbled, quickly moving off the bed and giving you some space.
You sat up, pulling the blanket around you as your loose shirt, a borrowed item from Wriothesley, had become somewhat disheveled during your unexpected interaction.
The room felt strangely quiet as you both processed the moment that had just transpired.
Wriothesley scratched his head, his gaze lingering on you, taking in the sight of your swollen lips and a faint red mark on the crook of your neck.
It appeared as though you both had quite the passionate encounter.
He quickly turned away, his face growing warm, and retrieved some clothes from his closet before hurriedly leaving the bedroom.
