Only a few months into the revolutionary year of 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟑 and it had become Thea Rose Stonem's most golden. Emerging from the depths of Hollywood's competitive hierarchy, the young and highly profound pop star had pledged her devoted allegiance to f...
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- 03. - '+• hunger •+'
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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ - A subtle gust of central air swept up Thea's exposed legs, uneasily waking her from her nine hour slumber. While gaining awareness of her being and surroundings, she felt a burly hand clinging onto the defined curvature of her waist. The pressure felt exhilarating while underneath a silk Dior slip dress but also slightly confounding; he wasn't supposed to stay the night, she thought to herself. Thea's eyes lazily trailed toward her alarm clock, which had ironically struck six in the morning the moment her eyes clung onto the red dashed lines.
"Good morning," he gruffly greeted before tightening his grip.
"Dominic, you're not supposed to be here," she dismissively replied. "I thought you said your wife needed you home."
"And yet, here I am with you," he chuckled. Thea despised that he found humor in the situation, which had already become rather straining. Jealousy brewed within her for the wrong reasons, and it had nothing to do with sentimental or romantic feelings. "Don't be like that."
"Like what, exactly? Those were your words, not mine."
"But look at where my priorities lie," Dominic expressed as he sat up against the elegant vegan leather headboard of Thea's bed. "Me being here should tell you something."
"It does, actually. It tells me a whole lot."
Thea refused to be subtle with her remarks, which were always razor sharp when it came to telling Dominic about himself. It was one of the many things he adored about her, anyway. He didn't mind being told about himself, just as long as he had the opportunity to hear her voice.
"Baby—"
"You need to go," she dismissed before attempting to remove his strong arm from around her waist. "I seriously expected to be alone this morning and I want exactly that."
