My first crush (COMPLETED)√

Chapter 27: Did we do it?!

As I forced my eyes open the next morning, my head throbbed faintly, weighed down by the fog of last night. Sunlight spilled through the curtains, warming the sheets — and that's when I noticed something wrong.

I glanced down.

My top was gone.

A jolt of panic shot through me. I lifted the blanket slowly and froze. I was only in my underwear.

My pulse hammered.

What the hell happened?

I turned sharply toward Eric. He lay beside me, still asleep, bare-chested, breathing evenly, wearing only his boxers. The memories of the night before were scattered — laughter, closeness, warmth — but nothing clear enough to reassure me.

Heat crept up my neck. I quickly slipped back under the covers just as he stirred awake.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, voice rough with sleep.

I hesitated, gripping the blanket.

"Did we..." I swallowed. "Did we do anything?"

He blinked, confused for a second — then understanding dawned. He sat up, running a hand through his hair.

"No," he said gently. "We didn't."

Relief poured through me.

"Then why am I half-naked?" I muttered.

His lips curved faintly.
"You were emotional... restless. You started taking your clothes off yourself. I didn't push it. I let you sleep."

I stared at him, half embarrassed, half incredulous.
"You should've stopped me."

His gaze lingered on me — warm, complicated.

"Would you have wanted me to?" he asked quietly.

I didn't answer.

Instead, I tossed a pillow at him, trying to laugh it off, and stood — only realizing too late what I'd done. Cool air brushed against my skin. I froze.

Eric's expression shifted instantly. His eyes darkened, not predatory, but undeniably affected. He looked away after a moment, collecting himself.

"Sharon..." he murmured, voice tighter now.

I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around me, suddenly very aware of the charged silence between us — of the closeness that hadn't quite crossed a line, but had come dangerously near it.

⸻

Eric's POV

Seeing her like that stirred something I'd fought all night to suppress.

She had trusted me — come to me vulnerable, hurting — and I refused to blur that boundary, even when she drifted closer in the dark. But desire doesn't vanish just because you tell it to. It lingers, patient and alive beneath the surface.

Stephen's calls had made things worse.

Her phone lit up again and again, vibrating insistently until I finally answered.

His desperation spilled through immediately — apologies, pleading, anger.
And I answered with calm confidence, letting him know exactly where she was.

Not to hurt her.

But because I wasn't stepping aside anymore.

Last night's call

Stephen: "Sharon, where are you now? Are you okay? I'm sorry — please tell me where you are so I can pick you up. I'm going crazy. I need you... I swear I didn't mean to hurt you. Sharon, say something."

Eric: "Sorry. She's asleep."

A pause.

"Who's this? Who are you?!"

"You seem to have forgotten my voice," I replied coolly. "It's Eric."

I could practically hear his temper ignite.

"What?! What is she doing with you?!"

"I was the best person she could come to," I said. "We're even sharing the same bed. Hopefully something changes tonight."

"How dare you?!"

"How dare me?" I scoffed. "Do you own her? She can do whatever she wants. And I'll do whatever it takes to make her mine, Stephen. You're running out of time."

"You don't deserve her! It's me — only me!"

"Stop wasting your time," I said flatly. "Don't call again. I don't want her changing her mind tonight."

And I hung up.