My Beating Bleeding Heart

Chapter 2: The Morning

Her POV

As the sunlight hits my eyes, I squint and try to hide under the covers. Why is my head hurting? I try to move, but I feel something heavy around my waist, and there's a strong wall behind my back. Okay, what the hell? Where am I? I slowly peek out from under the covers.

I don't... what happened last night? I look under the covers. I'm still wearing my sequin dress, the one meant for my bachelorette. I need to turn and see who this man is. He smells familiar—cinnamon. Only one person I know wears cologne with cinnamon tones. Oh no. Oh s**t. I slowly turn my head to see him. I vaguely remember him carrying me. Did I kiss him? Maybe I did. I hide my face in my hands. This is so embarrassing. I take a deep breath. At least it's him. If it was someone else, my stupid actions might have led to disaster. Who am I kidding? I knew he would be here. It's his place to sulk. I knew what I was doing. I knew he would walk over and comfort me if he saw me chugging so many shots. Those annoying girls—does he have to be so hot that no woman can keep their hands to themselves? I look at him and smirk, admiring his muscular arms above the sheets.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, his annoying smirk evident in his voice. I turned to see him, still wearing his white shirt, now stained with my lipstick, looking at me with those s*x-dripping eyes and that sly smile on his face. I rolled my eyes and slid out of bed. Standing in front of the floor-length mirror, I adjusted my dress because, well, it's completely crumpled.

From the corner of my eye, I can see his gaze on my back. I know what he’s imagining. "Stop staring," I say.

"I’m not... I’m just admiring the..." he trails off, then laughs, shakes his head, and stands up from the bed. He walks over to the intercom. I head to the bathroom to clean off my awful makeup. I hate the heavy makeup I had to endure yesterday.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, wiping my face, I heard an audible "Wow." I looked at him, and he was still staring at me. He walked towards me, tucked my wet hair behind my ear, and wiped a water droplet from my cheek. He doesn’t have to touch me so sensually; I have a headache, but still, my heart races. His every touch makes my knees weak. Did he always have this effect on me?

He leaned in to whisper, "I told you that makeup artist was bad," then started to laugh and play with my hair. The audacity of this man. I removed his hand and walked toward the mirror to check if all the makeup was gone. I should ask him. I bit my lower lip and turned to ask, "Did I...?"

He tilted his head and walked closer to me. "Did I what?" he asked, the obnoxious smirk still on his face. I put the towel on the chair, determined to ask. I turned and said, "I was really drunk... so did I kiss you or do anything inappropriate? I have my clothes on, so I'm not sure."

He laughed, like he was in some sort of comedy stand-up session. I was getting annoyed, and he noticed. He scratched his head and said, "You did call me 'pretty boy' and begged me to ride you all night long," then continued laughing. My cheeks turned red. s**t, did I really say that to him? Oh my god, what does he think of me now?

I composed myself and said, "That's it, right? Thank God I didn't kiss you."

He became serious. "Thank God... really... that's your response?" He was clearly offended.

"I meant more like... it's good that nothing happened. I would have regretted it, and you would have regretted it. It's not worth it, right?"

He looked at me and walked closer, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me into a hug. He was fast; before I knew it, I could feel his warm breath on my exposed collarbone. He reached towards my cheek and caressed it. I felt like I was melting under his touch. He softly whispered, "I wouldn't regret it."

He looked into my eyes, and my gaze fell on his lips. He leaned in and pulled me in for a kiss. His lips were just as I had imagined—soft, rough, but still inviting. The more he leaned into me, the more I let him. My hands now had fistfuls of his shirt.

He nudged me to open my mouth, and I did. Is this how it should feel when you want someone for so long? He kissed me deeply and completely. Will this kiss be enough? I wrapped my arms around his neck and sucked on his lower lip.

Kissing him back made him pull me closer, and now we couldn't get enough of each other. His hands wandered from my back to my lower back. He moved his hand to my behind, gently squeezed, and lifted me into his arms.

He didn't want to stop kissing me, and I couldn't either. This moment I had imagined for so long, always feeling like a distant dream. Now, here he is, all over me, and I cannot wait to be his. I kissed him deeper and deeper. We both stumbled into bed. He kept kissing me, and I couldn't stop myself from moaning. With my moan, he smiled; I felt his smile in his kiss, entangled with my lips. With a final suck on my lips, he looked into my eyes. His hands were on my waist and neck. He moved my hair aside gently so he wouldn't pull it too hard. My breathing was fast, and I could feel his heartbeat. He leaned in and whispered, "I hope you don't regret it."

He smiled and stood up from the bed, holding his hand out to help me up. Why did he stop? He kept smiling at me, and I wanted to ask why, but I knew the reason. I am still engaged to someone else, and as obnoxious as he is, he has always upheld my dignity, even before me.