[Previously titled 𝗚𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁𝘆 𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲]
❝No, Ace. I can't do it," I sob.
"I know you can take more than that, sunshine, come on," he encourages, pummeling into me in fervent motions. "One more for daddy, yeah?" He coaxes in a gruffly voice...
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O L I V I A
I wake up with a terrible hangover, my head pounding as the sunlight sneaks through my blinds. Groaning pitifully, I shield my head with my hands, feeling the pain throb. I shift away from the light, hiding my face in the pillow, trying to shut out the world a little longer.
Ugh, why did I drink so much last night?
With a sigh, I try to move my legs, surprised by the lightness. I straighten my spine and pull back the sheets, my eyes widening at my bare legs and my messy room. My clothes are missing. Panic rises. Oh, my God. What happened after I got drunk?
Looking around, I recognize my own room's colors. Familiarity and relief wash over me. How did I get here? I step out of bed, my mind racing to remember last night. Something important nags at me, urging me to find the answer.
I pace nervously, my thoughts racing until they focus on one question. I take a deep breath, checking for discomfort in a certain area. Relief washes over me—no odd sensation, no pain. I'm still a virgin. Thank goodness for small mercies!
However, I freeze at the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen. My limbs tremble, heart pounding. The realization that I'm not alone sends fear through me. My eyes search for a potential weapon—my umbrella. Hands trembling, I grab it tightly.
With cautious steps, I open my room door, trying to be quiet. I slip out, heart pounding in my ears and mind racing. Slowly, I move towards the noise—the kitchen. As I get closer, I see a surreal sight—Ace King, yes, the Ace King, cooking in my kitchen. My pulse quickens, jaw almost dropping. The last person I'd expect in my apartment is here, cooking like a pro.
Ace, cooking for me, is irresistible. A man who knows his way around the kitchen is sexy and attractive. I catch myself shamelessly staring, eyes on his covered muscles as he works. His back, broad and defined, moves with grace. It's like a private show just for me.
My umbrella accidentally drops to the floor, making a noise that grabs Ace's attention. He looks surprised when he sees me, and I feel my face getting hot. I'm embarrassed he caught me staring. His eyes travel down my bare legs, and I feel a mix of embarrassment and something else I can't ignore.
I fidget nervously. My outfit feels exposed under Ace's stare. I tug at the fabric, attempting to conceal more skin, but he keeps looking intensely. It's like he sees right through me.
"Uh, what's going on here?" I eventually ask, my voice betraying my confusion.
"Morning to you too, sunshine," he replies casually, brushing off my question and focusing on his cooking.
"M-morning," I stammer, feeling overwhelmed and uncertain.
"How are you feeling?" He inquires, his attention still on the plate he's working on.
