Hey lovelies,

I just wanted to take a moment to say the biggest thank you for all the love and support you've shown me. We've hit 38k+ reads, and honestly, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. It feels like a dream I don't want to wake up from-seriously, I'm so grateful!

Also, a huge thank you to everyone who took the time to wish me a happy birthday. Your sweet messages truly made my day extra special, and I felt so loved.

I hope you enjoy this next chapter-it's one I had a lot of fun writing, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

Don't forget to vote, comment, and share your favorite moments. You guys make this journey so much brighter.

Love always,
Whathepeach♥️💋

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S O P H I E H O N E Y

THE FIRST THING I register is the soft sound of slow breathing.

And it's not coming from me.

My lashes flutter open as my mind drags itself out of sleep. I shift slightly, feeling the soft brush of sheets against my skin-and that's when I realize I'm not wearing anything. Top to bottom. Not a single thread.

Beneath the sheets, I'm bare-ass naked.

That should have freaked me out. I should be panicking, screaming into a pillow or something dramatic-but it's nothing compared to the moment I finally register where the breathing is coming from. And then... last night hits me. Hard. Like a hurricane crashing through my brain.

He's sleeping.

So peacefully. Like nothing even happened last night.

I'd say I should act like it never occurred, pretend it was some wild dream. But I promised I wouldn't do that. And even though I was quite tipsy, I could never forget his touch... or his kisses.

Oh God. His kisses.

My lips feel sore and swollen, and I know exactly why. The way he devoured them-like he couldn't get enough. I couldn't even breathe when he kissed me the first time. And when he finally slowed down? I still couldn't breathe.

He was a starved man.

And who am I to judge? I was starved for him too. I should be feeling humiliated. Regretful. Something. But all I feel is... want.

I want more of him.

"This is not healthy," I mutter, closing my eyes, then opening them again because I don't want to stop looking at him. Not now. I want to see him more clearly-without the filter of him being my annoying roommate or my brother's bestfriend.

I want to see the man who made me scream beneath him with nothing but his mouth and fingers.

Those magic fingers that nearly made me weep from the sheer pleasure.

I don't blame girls for wanting him now.

He was good. So fucking good. And the things he said to me... filthy, dirty words I'd only ever seen in the spiciest books buried under my bed.

I don't think he left a single nasty word unsaid. Or maybe he did-but I was too far gone, too drunk on the ecstasy he gave me, to care.

And judging by the way he's calmly sleeping? He's not freaking out either.

He's lying shirtless, his body sprawled over the sheets, and I frown a little, wondering why he's like that. Doesn't he know he could catch a cold? Seriously?

His hair's a mess-like he's been running his fingers through it all night.

Or maybe... I was the one tugging it. Over and over. Every time his tongue did things to me that made me scream like I was being chased by a serial killer.

God.

I wonder if he enjoyed it.

I mean, he was having a bad day yesterday. And I didn't do anything to cheer him up. We didn't even get to hug like we planned. He just... focused on me. On making me feel good. Not him.

I pull the sheets a little higher up my chest, gripping them as heat rushes to my cheeks.

It wasn't a dream.

It really happened.

I let him touch me. Let him kiss me. Let him make me feel that kind of pleasure. And I loved it.

God help me, I loved it so much.

I'm never blaming Blair again for being a sex freak, because now I get it.

Now I see where it starts.

It's like I discovered a whole new planet, and I want to explore every inch of it. All of it.

Another wave of embarrassment hits me as I remember how I came apart with his fingers inside me-but weirdly... I don't feel sticky. Or gross. Or ruined.

If anything?

I feel... clean.

Did he...

I blink slowly, still trying to piece everything together. My eyes drift down, peeking under the sheet. My bare body is hidden beneath the soft fabric, but something feels... off. Or rather-too normal.

No stickiness. No grossness. No uncomfortable reminder of what we did.

I don't feel weird at all.

Did he... clean me?

The thought makes my stomach twist and blush flood my face so fast I feel it in my ears.

He cleaned me?

And if he did that, did he see me?

Like, see me naked?

Oh God.

My legs curl slightly, trying to hide under the sheet even more even though I'm already completely covered. I bury my face in the pillow for a second, like that'll erase the embarrassment crawling all over me.

I mean, I'm thankful. He listened to me when I asked him not to turn on the lights. He respected me, even when I was breathless and begging and everything inside me wanted to keep going.

But still... if he cleaned me, then he had to at least glimpse at a few part of my body, right?

I really hope he didn't look. Not like that.

My heart nearly does a full-on summersault when I hear him shift beside me, a low, sleepy groan escaping his throat.

Oh hell no. That's my cue to leave.

I scramble quietly, carefully, sliding out from under the sheet without making a sound. My bra is on the floor-half under the bed-and I fumble to hook it behind my back as fast as I can, my hands shaking like I'm defusing a bomb. Then my clothes, wrinkled and all over the place, get yanked on in a rush.

Underwear? No time.

I shove it into my pocket like it's contraband and tiptoe toward the door, practically holding my breath.

'Just a few more seconds. Just get out. You can process this later, just leave.'

But the second my fingers wrap around the doorknob and I begin to turn it-

"You said you wouldn't run." His voice.

That deep, low, scratchy morning voice that vibrates right down to my spine.

I freeze like someone caught me in a lie-which, well... they did.

The door closes in my hand with a soft click. I don't turn around yet. I just stand there, heart pounding in my chest, eyes wide like I'm caught stealing.

He's awake.

I hear the sheets shift again, the rustle of movement behind me. My spine stiffens.

Oh no. No no no.

He's getting up.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, as if that'll stop the reality from happening-but the soft pad of bare feet against the floor is impossible to ignore. He's not rushing, but his steps are steady. Calm. Confident. And getting closer.

My breath catches.

I want to turn around. I don't want to turn around. My brain is short-circuiting.

Why the hell did I think I could sneak out? Like he wouldn't notice me panicking in silence like a guilty raccoon?

I feel the warmth of his body before I even see him. He's that close. Too close. My heart's hammering, and not in the cute romantic way-it's the oh crap what do I do with my hands kind of way.

"You said you wouldn't run," he repeats, softer this time. His voice is closer now, just behind me. Warm. Gentle. Not accusing.

I swallow, slowly turning around. My eyes land on his chest first-bare, toned, annoyingly perfect-and my gaze refuses to rise higher for a second. I just stare at the spot between his collarbones like it's the only safe space in the room.

God, I remember kissing that spot.

I remember everything.

"I wasn't running," I lie-horribly-and my voice cracks in the middle like my lungs forgot how to breathe.

One side of his mouth lifts. "You had one foot out the door."

Okay. So he did notice.

I clutch the hem of my top like it might suddenly disappear. The cool fabric of my underwear shifts slightly in my pocket, a not-so-subtle reminder of my state.

He takes another step closer, and I instinctively press my back to the door. It's not that I'm scared-far from it. It's just... he's looking at me like I'm a puzzle he wants to spend time figuring out.

And I've never been the kind of girl who gets looked at like that.

"You're freaking out," he says gently.

"I'm not," I whisper back, completely unconvincing.

He tilts his head slightly, and I finally meet his eyes.

Big mistake.

Because there it is again-that soft intensity. That quiet heat that feels like it could melt every ounce of resistance I have left. He's not smirking or teasing or acting like last night was just some game. He's serious. Present. Awake.

I suddenly feel so naked. Not physically-though that too-but emotionally. Vulnerable in a way I didn't expect.

He lowers his voice, gaze flicking to my mouth for the briefest second.

"If you weren't freaking out," he murmurs, still standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, "then why did you try to sneak out like a one-night stand?"

My lips twitch before I can stop them, and a sound escapes me-somewhere between a scoff and a snort. "I didn't try to run," I say, straightening up and crossing my arms defensively, even though the air between us feels like it's buzzing. "I just... I wanted to go back to my room. I need to change and eat."

He doesn't even try to hide his reaction-he chuckles.

A low, throaty sound that wraps around me like warm water, and I hate how much I like it. His blue eyes crinkle at the corners, glinting with amusement, and there it is-that stupidly attractive dimple that only appears when he's really trying not to laugh in my face.

"What?" I ask, narrowing my eyes, but there's no real venom in my tone. Just heat in my cheeks and an embarrassing flutter in my stomach."Why are you laughing?"

"Look around first," he says, lips twitching as he holds back another laugh. "Then try that lie again."

I frown and glance around, my brain still clinging to denial... until I notice the soft yellow glow of the lamp I brought from home. My clothes are piled on the floor beside my wardrobe, and the familiar scent of my perfume hangs heavy in the air.

This is my room.

Damn it.

Damn it twice.

"I... I didn't know we were in my room," I mumble. It's the truth. I was so hyper from everything that happened last night-and maybe a little too busy thinking of ways I could possibly suggest us doing that again.

Theo nods slowly. "Yeah. I figured that out." He backs up slightly, but we're still close enough to feel the air between us shift. He folds his arms across his chest, and I have to fight the ridiculous urge to let my eyes drop to his arms. Or his chest. Or-God, focus.

"Would you still have run," he says, voice quieter now, "if it wasn't?"

"If what wasn't?" I blink up at him, catching the subtle change in his tone. It's not teasing anymore. It sounds... uncertain. Maybe even a little scared.

"If it was my room... would you still have run away?"

"No," I lie. And maybe I lie a little too fast.

He narrows his eyes slightly, clearly not buying it, then exhales and shakes his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips-but he doesn't let it show.

"Fine," he mutters, unfolding his arms and reaching out to ruffle my hair like I'm some flustered kitten. I blink in surprise as he steps closer. "Shift then."

"Huh?" I tilt my head, confused.

He rolls his eyes like I'm the one being slow. "You want to shower, right? Let me pass." He lifts a brow, and that damn smirk is back. "Or... do you want me to see you change? I won't mind-"

"You may leave!" I shout, practically tripping over myself to move out of the way. His laughter echoes behind me as I hear the door open.

"Twenty minutes should be enough for you to do everything you need, right?" he says casually, and I nod quickly, just wanting him gone before I completely combust.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"So I can make breakfast, of course. See you in twenty." And with that, he disappears.

I stay frozen for a moment, ears perked, waiting for the soft slam of his door across the hall. When I hear it, I finally exhale like I've been holding my breath the entire time.

My legs nearly give out, but I force myself to stay upright. Hiding sounds like a great idea right now, but then my stomach lets out a loud, traitorous growl, reminding me I haven't eaten properly in what feels like forever.

He's making breakfast. So... why hide?

He's actually being cool about it. Chill, even. So maybe I should be chill too.

People do this all the time. Youths. Young adults. Human beings. It's not a big deal. This is the world we live in now.

I nod at my own internal pep talk and head to the drawer, pulling out my little toiletry bag. I strip off my clothes and toss them in a heap before wrapping myself in a towel. Without wasting time, I slip into the hallway and duck into the guest bathroom.

I start brushing my teeth, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My gaze drops from my eyes to my lips-and I immediately freeze.

They're swollen.

Red beyond reason.

My insides twist, and memories from last night hit me like a freight train. I committed sins. Multiple. And I didn't even feel guilty.

Lord, please forgive me.

I spit the toothpaste into the sink, reaching for the water to rinse, when something catches my eye.

There-on my neck. Faint, but there.

Red marks.

Not super obvious, but definitely there if someone got close enough.

I freeze again, my brain flashing to when Theo's lips kissed the sides of my neck. The way I gasped-no, moaned-when he found that one spot.

Is that what they call... a sweet spot?

I groan and slap my cheeks lightly, as if that will wipe the memory of Theo's mouth on my neck from my brain.

"Stop it," I whisper to my reflection, narrowing my eyes. "No more dirty thoughts. You're brushing your teeth, not starring in a fantasy."

I rinse, spit, and rush into the shower like my soul depends on it. I turn the water on, letting the hot spray hit me in hopes it'll steam away the memory of everything-his hands, his voice, his laugh, his lips.

Especially his lips.

"Traitor," I mutter, aiming the shower head at my face like I'm trying to drown the thoughts.

After a quick, aggressive scrub and a lot of internal yelling at myself, I finally step out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel turban, skin fresh, and somewhat emotionally reset.

I glance around the hallway. No sign of Theo.

Good. He's probably taking his own shower, thank God.

I scurry back into my room, locking the door behind me like I'm protecting myself from a vampire-not that it would help if he really wanted to come in.

As I towel off and drop my robe, I pause mid-step.

Different sheets.

My gaze narrows.

These aren't my sheets.

They're clean, soft, and... beige? Mine were light purple with tiny daisies on them.

Where the hell are my daisy sheets?

I look around. Not in the laundry basket. Not on the chair. Not even balled up in a corner.

I could ask Theo.

Ugh. The idea alone makes my soul shrivel.

"Hi, quick question," I mumble aloud, mocking how that convo would go. "Did you strip my bed last night after... y'know, all the life-altering sinning we did?"

Yeah, no thanks.

I shove the thought away and grab a plain black sleeveless top and a pair of soft gray shorts-it's Sunday, after all. No reason to get fancy. Plus, I need to let my poor soul breathe after the chaos of last night.

I start to tidy my room in slow, aimless motions-folding clothes, tossing wrappers, trying to pretend I didn't just lose my entire moral compass on this very bed.

This bed. My bed.

Where it happened.

Where everything happened.

Oh God.

Blair would be so proud. She'd probably give me a high-five and demand every detail before I could even blink.

Alex... Alex might faint. But secretly? She'd be proud too. Horrified, yes, but proud.

I smile at the thought, warmth blooming in my chest as I picture their chaotic reactions.

Speaking of the girls...

"Where's my phone?"

I pause mid-fold, scanning the room.

Not on the nightstand. Not on the floor. Not under the pillow. Definitely not on the dresser.

Uh-oh.

Where did I last-Wait.

Even though my memories should be foggy, they're not.

Everything's crystal clear.

I remember not exactly leaving the party with my bag-or my phone. After chasing Theo down when he was having a breakdown and then coming back to the apartment with him, I can confidently say I returned empty-handed.

Is this going to be a thing now? I go to parties and forget all my belongings?

How do I even contact the girls now?

Before I can spiral further, the sound of movement outside my room snaps me back to reality. Theo.

He's making breakfast.

I sigh and push myself up, heading toward the comforting clatter of pans and soft sounds of a voice. As I round the corner, I pause.

He's on the phone, flipping pancakes, and my stomach immediately growls. The sweet, buttery aroma fills the air and wraps around me like a warm hug. How did I not smell that before?

I quietly pad into the kitchen and slide onto one of the stools by the counter, just in time to hear the last bit of his conversation before he ends the call and slips his phone into his pocket.

That's when I finally notice it-he's wearing a black tank top and gray sweatpants.

The exact color scheme I'm wearing.

Okay, that's weird.

We look like one of those obnoxious couples who match outfits on purpose. I suppress the urge to cringe.

"I was talking to Blair," he says suddenly, plating a pancake and placing it in front of me. "Don't touch. It's hot."

I raise a brow. "I'm not a baby, you know."

He smirks, not missing a beat. "I know you're not."

I roll my eyes and lean on the counter. "Why did Blair call? Wait-how does she even have your number?"

"You left your phone at the party last night," he says casually, flipping another pancake with effortless grace. I find myself watching his hands, the way his wrist flicks just right. It's oddly mesmerizing.

"Oh... yeah." I scratch the back of my neck. "I just realized that. So, is she coming to drop it off or... should I go pick it up?"

"She's coming," he replies, placing another pancake on my plate.

"Don't touch."

I shoot him a look. "Okay, seriously, why are you acting like my dad right now?"

I can't help but laugh as the memory pops up-Dad working on his car, grease on his hands, while I hovered too close, eager to touch everything. He'd give me that same tone. The warning-with-a-smile one.

Theo glances at me with a sideways grin. "I don't know. Maybe you just give off chaotic energy that needs supervision."

I gasp. "Excuse me?"

He shrugs, flipping another pancake like it's a reflex. "You were about to burn your hand."

"I wasn't!" I lie, straight-faced. I totally was. "My skin can handle a little heat."

He scoffs, eyes flicking to mine with a smirk. "Your skin's sensitive. And extremely soft. The slightest touch, it turns red."

"It doesn't," I argue, but we both know the truth. It does.

"Sophia," he says, voice dipping into something lower as he slides the third pancake onto my plate. "I'm starving. I really don't have the strength to argue with you this early. Is three enough?"

"Yeah," I mumble, suddenly distracted. There's something intimate in the way he says my name, the way he's fussing over how many pancakes I need like it's second nature. Like this is normal.

Like we are normal.

And the fact that I like it way too much? Problematic.

"And my skin isn't that soft," I add, knowing it's a losing battle but refusing to let it go.

He turns, eyes dropping briefly to my exposed shoulder before they meet mine again, heat flickering in his gaze.

"My fingers from last night beg to differ."

My breath catches.

Just like that, the room gets warmer. Or maybe it's just me.

He doesn't even smirk-he just says it and turns back to the stove like he didn't just make my entire brain short-circuit. Like he didn't just casually remind me that his hands were everywhere last night.

I clear my throat, shifting on the stool. "I-I'm eating now. Don't disturb me," I mumble, reaching for mine for one of the pancakes even though it's still hot.

He chuckles under his breath, and I swear I can feel it dance across my skin.