Heartbeats & Ink

Sofia

I woke up with a pounding headache. "Ugh, my head..." I groaned, struggling to open my eyes. The bright sunlight streaming through sheer white curtains hit my face. "When did Tatia buy these curtains?" I thought, confused.

As my eyes adjusted, I froze. This wasn't Tatia's room. This wasn't even my room. "Wait... where am I?" I squinted, trying to piece it all together like a bad detective in a low-budget movie. With trembling hands, I quickly checked myself, patting down like I was going through airport security, praying I still had clothes on. "Oh, thank God," I breathed a sigh of relief, realizing I was indeed covered.

But then my eyes widened. "Wait a minute..." This wasn't the dress I wore last night. Instead, I was in an oversized man's T-shirt and shorts that hung off me like I was auditioning for a part in a 90s boy band. Panic shot through me, and I shot up like a meerkat. "Whose wardrobe malfunction is this?"

"What the hell happened?"

I clutched my head as bits and pieces of last night flickered like a broken slideshow. I wasn't in any real pain, which was either a relief... or a sign that whoever "it" was, they were really bad at their job. "Great, Sofia. Even your sex life is a comedy of errors." My thoughts spiraled into chaos. "Did something happen? Am I missing something?" I scanned the room frantically, and then my eyes landed on a doctor's coat draped over a chair.

"Adrian..." I whispered, the name pulling me back to reality.

Memories flooded back in a chaotic rush—us in the car, me, for some absurd reason, jokingly calling him "daddy," playing doctor like it was some ridiculous role-play fantasy. And then—oh no. Oh God, no. It all came crashing down, every humiliating detail. I had told him. I had actually told him.

I'd confessed, in the most cringe-worthy, heart-stopping moment of my life, that I was a virgin. Not just that— I'd spilled everything, awkwardly blurting out that I had no clue how to even go about having sex. "Great job, Sofia. You managed to turn a casual night into a confessional.

As I was drowning in my chaotic thoughts, the soft click of the bathroom door jolted me back to reality. I looked up, and there he was—Adrian. Water still glistened on his skin, shimmering under the light as it trailed down his toned body. A white towel hung dangerously low on his hips, barely covering what modesty demanded, while exposing his sculpted abs—each ridge of muscle perfectly defined like a living sculpture. His chest, broad and commanding, seemed almost too perfect, like he'd walked straight out of a fantasy novel and into my personal waking dream.

But it was the tattoos that did it—those intricate designs weaving across his skin like forbidden art. His tattoos were like the cherry on top—positioned perfectly, like pieces of art on a canvas, making his body look even more like a masterpiece. And then, there was that scent. Even from across the room, the subtle, beachy notes of his body wash hit me, a mix of sun and sea, lingering in the air like a potent aphrodisiac. It was intoxicating, stirring something deep within me that I hadn't felt before.

"Done staring?" His voice, smooth and teasing, sliced through my daze, making my pulse quicken.

I quickly averted my eyes, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. I could feel his smirk without even looking at him, but I had no idea how to respond. For God's sake, I was in his bed, wearing his clothes.

I swallowed hard. "Did you... did you sleep beside me?" I asked hesitantly.

"No, Sofia. I didn't," he replied softly, walking toward me. My breath hitched as he drew closer, my heart thudding in my chest. I couldn't explain this feeling—why I was reacting this way.