Medora
I lay on Clyde's massive bed—not in the treehouse this time, but in his bedroom inside the main house. He was beside me, his head resting on my bare stomach, his fingers lazily tracing soft circles across my skin.
His room was enormous, easily three times the size of my own. The bed alone felt like it could fit an entire family, and the space was filled with everything anyone could dream of: a gaming area, a conversation pit, a refrigerator, a massive TV, a work desk, and a bathroom so grand it had its own pool.
Yes, a pool. Can you imagine?
It was almost 2 a.m. We’d just returned from New York, but I wasn’t ready to leave his side yet. So here we were, tangled up in each other in his impossibly perfect room. My fingers wove through his blonde curls, twirling and tugging gently
