Tangled In His Sheets Mga Nobela at Kwento

He's asleep and she's gone. The bed is a mess. His pillows are askew, and his sheets are half-hanging. My eyes drift to the gauze on his side, it is slightly bloodstained but at least it's still in place. The man as an arm slung over his face while the other rests loosely on his stomach like nothing ever happened. I sit up slowly and reach for the blanket that slipped to the floor. I don't wrap it around me. I just hold it, it's more for comfort than warmth.

But then he paused, jacket in hand. Almost without thinking, he leaned down and gently draped the jacket across her shoulders. The fabric slipped around her like a blanket, and she instinctively nuzzled into it, sighing in her sleep. Alexander’s jaw tightened. This was… inappropriate. Unnecessary. And yet, he didn’t move. For the briefest second, a crack formed in his carefully constructed armor. ----------------------- Flashback The image of Lily’s sleeping face blurred—shifting into another memory. A library. Sunlight filtering through tall windows.

he mumbled. They struggle. And it's carelessness, they got tangled in a sheet and fell to the floor.

When his hands found her ribs, they were still almost reverent. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped. She guided his hand lower. “Don’t you dare.” He lifted her into his arms, mouth never leaving hers, and carried her to the wide, cold bed that hadn’t known touch in years. There was nothing polished about it. No choreography. Only sweat, teeth, gasps. Her legs around his waist. His voice low, breaking muttering her name like a confession between each kiss. Her hands in his hair. Their pain, their pasts, their betrayals tangled between sheets.

As the morning light streamed in through the partially drawn curtains, it gently danced behind his closed eyelids, gradually drawing him from his peaceful and deep slumber. Slowly opening his eyes, he frowned feeling a weight on his chest. Looking down, he found a mop of brown lock sprawled across his chest, her head nestled close to his chest.

The only remaining detail of her left were the sheet marks printed into his arms from where he had wrapped his arms around her, the sheets bundled in his fists and his lips against her skin. He frowned- a puzzled frown- as he climbed to his feet; stuffing his legs in his sweat pants and padding his way across the wooden flooring of his room and into the cold bathroom, where only a bloody towelette and plaster wrappers scattered across the countertop, spoke to their evening, plastic bold and iridescent, flashing in the light like highway signs.

In a panic, he jumped down from the bed and searched for his clothes but he was not able to find any of them. Tiptoeing towards the wardrobe, he mumbled to himself, “Why the hell I am all naked… she… did she succeed to seduce me…? Finally idiot Shishir, a huge congratulation for successfully getting seduced by your rival… now be her slave for eternal…” Furiously opening the door of the wardrobe, he got himself the pajamas. Pulling it above and tucking it on his hip, he grumbled, “Why why… why?” He then walked to the bed and threw the pillow away. He pulled up the duvet and collecting it in his arms threw it away. And when he was about to tear off the sheets, he saw the red stain on the sheet

Hot, heavy tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I exhaled, "No… this can't be real." I looked around again. A dim light filtered through the closed curtains. Something bitter, perhaps liquor, and a hint of cologne filled the air. As though someone had been snoozing all night, the sheets were tangled. Then I became aware of it—the steady breathing next to me. I stiffened. I turned my head slowly. Nightangle Thane. With each deliberate breath, his broad shoulders rose and fell as he lay on his side.

My fingers dug into the sheets beneath me, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Then he did it again, this time to the other. The sudden tug sent a strong feeling through me and I couldn’t hold back the cry that tore from my lips. My eyes burned as tears pricked at the corners, blurring my vision. My entire body trembled from the discomfort. “That’s it,” he murmured. He let the scissors drop onto the bedside. I swallowed hard with my chest rising and falling, my mind caught between emotions I couldn’t even begin to untangle.

It was a blank canvas, unsettling in its perfection. He was lying on a narrow, almost Spartan bed, draped in crisp, white sheets that felt starched and impersonal against his skin. His head rested on a pillow that offered little comfort, and his body ached with a deep, pervasive soreness that went beyond the superficial cuts and rope burns on his wrists. He glanced down at them; they were meticulously bandaged, stark white against his pale skin, but the underlying throbbing reminded him of their recent trauma.