The humid air hung heavy as Lyney announced, "I'll shower first. Just rest, and I'll join you afterward." His gaze lingered on your form, a silhouette against the crisp white sheets, your back turned away from him.

An obedient murmur escaped your lips, and the soft click of the bathroom door signaled his departure. A calculated sixty seconds ticked by, assurance solidifying with each passing moment. Then, with practiced stealth, you retrieved your phone from the bedside table. A swift, fluid motion found you burrowed beneath the covers, the screen's luminescence subdued to a clandestine glow, the volume a mere whisper.

A surge of illicit pleasure coursed through you as you indulged in the curated charm of a handsome stranger's short video. So engrossed were you in this digital dalliance that you failed to register the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the almost imperceptible sound of his return.

"Find something interesting?" His voice, a low-timbered rumble, carried an edge of suppressed ire. The unexpected intrusion sent a jolt through you. With reflexive haste, the phone vanished, replaced by a studied posture of feigned slumber.

A mirthless chuckle escaped him, fueled by a potent cocktail of annoyance and resignation. This charade, he suspected, was not a novel performance.

Indeed, this was the third act in a recurring drama. The first two encounters had been near misses, close calls skirting the edge of discovery. This time, however, fortune had abandoned you.

He settled beside you, the mattress yielding to his weight. A tremor of apprehension ran through you, a silent plea echoing in your mind: Let him say nothing, let him simply sleep. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. He turned, a possessive arm snaking around your waist, drawing you into the warm cradle of his embrace. "Is he more captivating than me? Why seek amusement elsewhere? Am I not enough to hold your attention?"

"No! I just…! I just…" Panic constricted your throat, rendering you momentarily speechless.

He nuzzled into your neck, feigning wounded pride, "I'm sorry… I won't do it again."

"How many times have you said that?" His voice, though laced with patience, held a firm undercurrent.

"Only… three times…" Your voice dwindled to a barely audible murmur. Sensing his displeasure, you gently rubbed against him, a small, aggrieved sound escaping your lips. "I know I was wrong… I promise I won't stay up late again…"

The sight of your distress softened his resolve. He couldn't bear to inflict further anguish. With gentle gravity, he reasoned, "Darling, I'm not trying to berate you. I simply want you to understand the nature of your transgression and to avoid repeating it." "Alright..." In defeat, you nodded a little.

"..go to sleep, mon chérie, I'll be there. Shh.." his hand, heavy and safe on your back, lightly patting as he cooed.