The heavy silk drapes parted, revealing a dimly lit chamber. Moonlight painted the ornate four-poster bed where a man reclined, his torso bare, a book held loosely in his hand. He looked up, his gaze settling on you, a question etched in the subtle furrow of his brow. "Why...?" he whispered, the word hanging in the heavy silence like an unspoken accusation.

Terror gripped you. You lay frozen, unable to move, unable to speak, your hands clenched white against the plush pillow. His nakedness was jarring, a stark contrast to the elegant surroundings. But it was the agonizing throb in your lower back that truly stole your breath. Why… is he naked? And why does my lower back ache so fiercely? The thought echoed in your mind, striking a terrifying chord of realization. The soft fabric of the pillow offered no comfort; only the cold dread of understanding dawned. Oh no… could it be? Could this be… the awkward, painful after-effect of… of that? The memory flickered a dizzying dance of stolen glances, hesitant touches, a culmination of unspoken desires that now manifested in this excruciating and utterly embarrassing predicament. Your heart hammered against your ribs, mirroring the dull ache spreading across your lower back, its silent scream far more eloquent than any words you could possibly utter.