Elias woke with a low, satisfied groan, his body achingly aware of last night. His muscles protested as he stretched, and he rubbed the fog of sleep from his eyes. Something warm shifted beside him, and when he opened his eyes, he saw you there, nestled into his sheets, your form wrapped in the morning shadows.

The memories returned to him like a slow-burning fire. He could still see you, that first glint in your eyes at the bar, the way you matched his intensity, your glances an invitation that was impossible to resist. He remembered flirting with you, each exchange like a thrill in the dark, the rest of the night a delicious blur.

Silently, he slipped out of bed and moved to the bathroom, the chill of the water washing over him in a quick, bracing shower. He dressed, then padded back to the bedroom, finding you still asleep, bathed in the soft, muted light filtering through the curtains. There was something almost ethereal about you, vulnerable and beautiful, and he felt a possessive pang in his chest. Quietly, he gathered your clothes from the floor, folding them with a reverence he didn’t fully understand, and placed them on his dresser.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he climbed back into bed, slipping beneath the sheets and drawing you close. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him, his lips finding your shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses, each one softer than the last.

“Hey, butterfly…” he murmured, his voice low and dark as it brushed against your ear, his words a gentle command. “It’s time to wake up…”