Chapter 6 - Ethan's Buns

Belle abruptly froze, her breath hitching as her eyes landed on the bathroom door.

Ethan stood there—half-dressed, wearing nothing but a pair of loose pajama pants that hung low on his hips. The soft lighting traced every defined line of his torso, from the firm planes of his chest down to the sharply cut ridges of his abdomen… and lower, to that dangerously carved V that disappeared beneath the fabric.

Her mind blanked. Then instantly spiraled.

Heat rushed to her face as she quickly shook her head, as if she could physically scatter the inappropriate thoughts that suddenly invaded her mind.

But they refused to leave.

Noticing her wide-eyed—almost horrified—expression, Ethan absentmindedly glanced down at himself, brows furrowing slightly in confusion.

“Something wrong, Belle?” he asked, concern threading his voice as he took a step toward her.

That step only made things worse.

Belle blinked repeatedly, trying—desperately—to compose herself. Unfortunately, the very source of her panic was now closing the distance between them. His presence was overwhelming—his warmth, his nearness, and that faint, clean masculine scent that immediately wrapped around her senses and left her defenseless.

“Belle, are you alright?” he asked again, his voice softer now, laced with worry.

She could only stare. Because how was she supposed to respond to this?

All her life, she had been sheltered in ways that mattered. Yes, she studied medicine—she had seen diagrams, textbooks, even lifeless bodies. But this?

This was different. This was real. Alive. Warm. And entirely too close.

She was twenty—untouched, unkissed, inexperienced in every way that suddenly seemed important. Her throat went dry, forcing her to swallow repeatedly as if that would steady the chaos inside her.

“You alright, Belle? Did something happen?” Ethan persisted when she remained silent. He stepped closer, gently holding her arms, his hands careful as he checked her for any sign of distress. The contact sent a jolt through her.

“A-ahm… uhm…” she stammered, quickly averting her gaze.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again, searching her face.

“Nothing…” she murmured, barely audible.

She tried to pull away—but her hand brushed against his chest.

Warm. Firm. Solid.

Her entire system short-circuited.

'I need to get away from the buns…'

Her thoughts screamed in panic.

“Get away from what…?” Ethan asked, clearly catching words she hadn’t meant to say out loud.

Her eyes widened in horror.

“I—I’ll go now!” she blurted, flustered.

“I mean—I’ll sleep! Yes, I’ll sleep. I’m sleepy. Very… very tired…”

She even forced a yawn—an unconvincing one.

Ethan stared at her like she had completely lost her mind.

“I’ll be sleeping now, Ethan” she added quickly, ducking past him and practically fleeing toward the bed.

She dove under the thick comforter, wrapping it tightly around herself like armor, leaving only her face exposed.

“Ahm… it’s cold,” she added nervously.

“You should wear your top. You might catch a cold. The aircon is… really cold tonight.”

Ethan didn’t respond right away. He simply watched her. And then, slowly, a flicker of amusement crossed his eyes.

Belle, on the other hand, remained rigid beneath the blanket, pretending to be completely composed—when in reality, her heart was still pounding wildly against her chest.

Meanwhile, Ethan stood there, quietly observing her dramatic attempt at escape, clearly beginning to understand exactly what had sent her into such a flustered state.

“I’ll be sleeping now, Ethan…” Belle announced, her voice a little too bright and high-pitched.

She ducked under his arm with a hurried, almost clumsy, movement and practically scurried to the far side of the large bed.

Ethan watched her retreat, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of curiosity and dawning comprehension. A silent, knowing smile played on his lips as he followed the path she had taken.

The room was indeed cool, the air conditioner humming softly, but Belle’s next words came out in a flustered rush.

“Ahm, it’s so cold… You should wear your top, Ethan. You might catch a chill,” she insisted, her voice muffled as she burrowed deep beneath the thick down comforter.

She wrapped it tightly around herself like a protective cocoon, until only the flushed oval of her face and a few stray strands of hair were visible.

Ethan observed her quietly, a glimmer of pure amusement lighting his eyes as her plan became perfectly clear. He decided to indulge her little act, but couldn't resist moving closer.

He walked slowly to her side of the bed and leaned down, his face hovering just above hers. The scent of his soap and his own distinct, masculine warmth seemed to fill the small space between them.

“You’re sweating, Belle,” he remarked, his tone deceptively casual. The hint of laughter threading through his words was unmistakable.

“Come out of that blanket before you overheat.”

“No, I’m perfectly cold,” she insisted, her voice firm but strained as she clenched the comforter even tighter.

“You go ahead. Wear your clothes.” She squeezed her eyes shut, a clear sign of her desperation to end the conversation.

This time, a low chuckle escaped Ethan’s lips; he could no longer contain his amusement at her transparent antics. The sight of her, trying so earnestly to ignore the very obvious tension she was feeling, was utterly endearing.

“Alright, Belle. I’ll wear my clothes now,” he conceded, his tone softening into genuine gentleness despite the powerful urge to tease her further—an urge he firmly suppressed.

“Then you can come out of there.” He left her side and moved to the closet, deliberately giving her space.

As he pulled on his pajama top, his thoughts were solely on her. Her flustered reaction to his state of undress was a stark reminder of her innocence.

He was a man all too aware of his attraction to her, a constant, simmering presence he had learned to master. But Belle… Belle was young, her experiences a blank page. He would never take advantage of the trust she had so bravely placed in him by staying in his room.

The desire to devour her, to make her his in every way, was a primal force within him, but it was shackled by a far stronger one: protectiveness. He would wait. However long it takes for her to be ready.

Meanwhile, buried in her fabric fortress, Belle was at war with herself. The image of him—the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen, the tantalizing glimpse of hip bones and the trail of dark hair leading downward—was seared onto the back of her eyelids.

To her horror, it kept replaying in her mind like a forbidden film. Even worse, her body was betraying her in ways she barely understood. She could still smell his scent on the air, a faint, intoxicating musk that made her head feel light.

A strange, fluttering heat pooled deep in her stomach, a stark contrast to the cool room. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a wild drum, and most confusing of all was the peculiar, insistent thrumming deep between her thighs.

It was a sensation both unsettling and thrilling, a secret pulse of awareness that left her feeling appalled and intensely embarrassed.

“Ahhhh… Belle, calm down. It’s just… anatomy. Just buns…” she whispered fiercely into the pillow, shaking her head as if to physically dislodge the thoughts.

“Why does he have to look so… 'yummy'? He is not food, you idiot. Stop drooling,” she scolded her traitorous body, swallowing hard. Her internal monologue spiraled into a frantic, silent ramble.

'Do all men look like that? So… formidable? And those lines leading down… and the hair… ahhh! Erase, Belle, erase! That is a dangerous zone!'

She even made a futile little erasing gesture with her hand in the empty air.

So engrossed was she in her internal battle that she failed to notice the soft footfalls or the dip in the mattress as Ethan returned. He had been standing there for a moment, listening to her frantic whispers and watching her agitated movements, his heart swelling with a mixture of affection and aching restraint.

He heaved a soft, quiet sigh, a sound filled with the weight of his own longing and his resolve to be the anchor in her storm of confusion. He made a point of sitting down on the bed with a deliberate creak of the springs.

“Belle…” he called softly, his voice a gentle caress in the quiet room.

But from the tightly wound bundle of blankets, there was no response. Only the tense, still silence of a girl pretending, with all her might, to be asleep.

The silence in the room had stretched into a tangible presence, thick and heavy between them. Ethan watched the rigid shape Belle made beneath the comforter, a still, silent mound turned resolutely away from him. He could feel the wall of her embarrassment as if it were a physical barrier.

“Belle,” he began, his voice a low, careful murmur in the quiet.

“I know you’re still awake. Can we talk?” He carefully shifted his weight, the mattress dipping as he scooted closer.

He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before gently placing it on her shoulder through the blanket, trying to coax her to face him. Belle remained stubbornly immobile, a statue of flustered resolve.

A flicker of frustration passed through him—not at her, but at the situation. He wanted to bridge this gap, to pacify the troubled thoughts he knew were racing through her mind, but she seemed determined to hide.

After another long moment of quiet, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioner, he spoke again, his words soft but clear.

“What you felt… it’s just normal, Belle. And honestly, I feel it too. Constantly. Even when you’re fully clothed.” He let the admission hang in the air, a simple, honest truth.

He continued, his gaze fixed on the curve of her back, willing her to hear the sincerity in his voice.

“I can assure you, I’m not a… sexual maniac. But I’m definitely not a saint, either. I’m just a man. A man who feels a powerful attraction to someone as beautiful as you. And you, Belle… you’re a woman. A normal, healthy woman who is capable of feeling the same way. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

A gentle, understanding smile touched his lips, even though she couldn't see it.

“Don’t be afraid of what you feel. If it overwhelms you, I understand. But please, don’t fight it as if it’s something shameful. You understood my intentions when I brought you here. You’re not a child. I know you can feel this… this tension between us. It’s natural. It’s human.”

Inside her blanket fortress, Belle heard every word. They seeped through the layers of fabric and her own defenses, each one striking a chord of truth. Maybe he was right.

Perhaps she was simply overwhelmed, unprepared for the sheer intensity of the emotions that washed over her whenever he was near. She *was* a woman, in her full bloom, and he was a virile man whose presence commanded the very air in the room. Denying the magnetic pull between them would be an act of denial, not virtue.

She had always been aware of her own effect, even if she’d seldom had the luxury to acknowledge it. Her slender frame was punctuated by gentle curves, and her face, often shadowed by worry, held a beauty that drew second glances.

There had been boys, men, who had tried to get her attention, but survival—the grind of school and part-time jobs—had always been her priority, leaving no room for such distractions.

Finally, after an internal struggle, the comforter shifted. Slowly, she emerged, pushing the blanket down and moving to sit upright on the edge of the bed. She kept her head bowed, her focus intently on her own fingers, which she nervously twisted in her lap. Ethan remained silent, giving her space, his patient gaze a warm weight upon her.

“I… I’m not afraid, Ethan,” she whispered, her voice soft and unsure, like a fragile thread in the quiet room.

“I was just… overwhelmed. It’s all so new to me.”

The sound of her voice, however tentative, was a relief. A genuine, tender smile instantly softened Ethan’s features, and he nodded.

“Take all the time you need, Belle. I will never, ever force you. I want this—*us*—to work, and I’m willing to wait for as long as it takes.”

He reached out, covering her fidgeting hands with his own. His touch was warm and steady.

“This is moving fast for both of us. I just want you to feel safe enough to enjoy each step. We’ll figure this out together, as we get to know each other.”

Belle felt a wave of relief at his words. A soft, grateful smile finally touched her lips as she nodded. Then, tentatively, she turned her hands under his and squeezed back, a small but significant gesture of acceptance and trust.

"Belle," Ethan began, his voice a hushed, earnest plea that seemed to vibrate in the quiet space between them.

He gently nudged the hand he was holding, his thumb stroking slow circles over her knuckles.

"Just let me hold you. Let me kiss you, and hug you… I know I can't keep my hands off you, and that's why I need to ask. Let me be affectionate with you, Belle… please."

A wave of heat surged up Belle's neck, flooding her cheeks with a tell-tale blush. She could feel the warmth spreading, a silent testament to the flustered joy his words ignited.

"Can you?" he persisted, his voice softening even further as he felt her fingers relax slightly within his grasp. A soft, involuntary giggle escaped her lips.

"Let this old man be happy, hmm?"

Despite the shyness that still clung to her, a sense of honesty broke through. If she was truly honest with herself, she craved his touch—it felt like a sanctuary, a place of profound safety and warmth. He had never made her feel anything less than cherished. Slowly, she nodded, lifting her gaze to meet his with a faint, trembling smile.

"I… I like your touch, too, Ethan," she whispered, the confession leaving her in a breathless rush.

"And… everything else." She braced for a teasing remark, but instead, she was met with a gaze so tender it made her heart ache. His eyes, glimmering with unadulterated happiness, held only warmth.

"And I want your touch just as much, Belle," he replied, his tone still gentle but layered with a new depth of vulnerability.

"I want to be touched by you, to be kissed by you, to be held by you… anything you'd want to do. I'm just a man, Belle. I need your affection, too. Do you think… you could do that for me?"

Belle's eyes widened, her lips parting in a soft gasp. The idea—that *she* could hold such power, that *he* needed her just as desperately—was both staggering and exhilarating. She pursed her lips, thinking, before the shy words found their way out.

"I… I also want to touch you, Ethan. And everything else."

The moment the words left her lips, Ethan's smile bloomed into something radiant, lighting up his entire face.

"Thank you, Belle," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"I… I want to hug you right now." Without waiting for another reply, he gently drew her into his arms, enveloping her in a secure, warm embrace that felt like coming home.

Belle melted against him, releasing a soft, contented sigh.

"You don't always have to ask, you know," she whispered into his chest, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

"I know," he answered, his hand beginning a slow, soothing rub along her back that made her eyelids flutter shut in bliss.

"I just didn't want to startle you. But from now on, I might not always give a warning. I'll just… love you."

They stayed like that, wrapped in a silence that was anything but empty. It was a magical, intimate cocoon, filled with the unspoken understanding passing between them.

A gentle, contented smile lingered on both their lips. For Belle, nestled in the solid warmth of his arms, the moment felt beautifully surreal.

After a long, peaceful while, Ethan's voice was a soft rumble against her ear.

"And Belle… you can touch the buns anytime you want. Don't be afraid of them. They're yours."

The words sent a fresh, searing wave of embarrassment through her. He *had* heard her earlier muttering! With a mortified gasp, she buried her burning face deep into the solid wall of his chest, hiding from the world and the man whose laughter now vibrated gently through her, full of affection and playful triumph.

****😅😜😅****