Tangled In His Sheets Mga Nobela at Kwento

I unbuckle his sword belt and it joins the coat. He’s left in his white shirt and breeches. The shirt is stained red at the cuffs. "Sit," I say, nudging him toward the edge of the bed. He sinks on to the mattress then slumps forward, resting his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. I go to the basin. The water in the pitcher is cold, but it’s clean. I dip a cloth into it, wringing it out before going back to him and kneeling between his legs.

He also changed the bedsheets, which were messy and smelled of sx. A velvet sheet is draped over me, positioned across my backside; I am lying on my side facing him, so my brasts aren't very visible. He, on the other hand, is in front of his canvas. He isn’t wearing any clothes either, so his Greek god-like physique is on full display. His cck is beautiful just like him—fully erect and looking ready for another round. He’s focused on his work, and I’m just basking on the bed as if I haven't a care in the world.

They tangled together until she couldn’t tell them apart. “Why does it still hurt?” she whispered under her breath. She sighed, standing up and carefully helping him to his feet. His body was heavy and limp, but she managed to guide him upstairs, half dragging, half carrying. Inside his room, she laid him gently on the bed. The faint light from the hallway spilled across his face. He looked peaceful now, younger even. His shoes reeked faintly of leather and smoke, so she knelt and untied them, setting them aside. His shirt was rumpled and damp; she unbuttoned it halfway and slipped it off, leaving him in his undershirt.

I can't imagine what it's like for him, doing all the work. I curl even closer to him, covering us with the starched white sheet. As my eyes drift close, I wonder briefly what he was saying before I too fall into a deep sleep.

He clasps my hands tight in his own and releases them only when he falls asleep. I am sitting beside him as he lies on his bed. He is breathing steadily, but I can feel his body heat even though he is lying on his back with a thick blanket covering him. His head rests on the pillow, and his arms are sprawled over my legs. I watch his lips as they twitch in sleep. The scent of whiskey and blood lingers in the room. My eyes go to the bottles of alcohol by the bed. I turn my head and look out the window. It is the early morning hours.

she observed, her concern deepening as she took in the mess he was in. His usually meticulous appearance was unraveling. His sleeves were still half-rolled, his tie loose, his eyes dull yet piercing, hazel-dark pools that held something unreadable.

The man currently burying himself inside me has no idea he is claiming a ghost. Burgundy silk sheets have come loose from every corner of the mattress, twisted and bunched beneath us by now, offering no grip for my knees, no anchor for my hands except the fistfuls of fabric I keep dragging toward myself like it might hold me together.

The curtains were also drawn, making it hard to see anything. “Hello.” Tanya said lightly, but there was no reply. “Hello.” Tanya called out again, but this time, more loudly. Again, there was no reply, but she saw a faint movement on the bed. She quickly walled towards the bed and she saw him, lying on the bed lifelessly. His eyes was shut tightly. His shirt was also unbuttoned. His hair was rough, as if he had ran bi's hands through it a couple of times. His whole state was messy….

Renders the hard edges of furniture and walls into sleep-blurred shapes. His shadow is sprawled across the sheets like spilled ink. He’s not under the blanket—just lying on top of it, in a loose cotton shirt and those pale blue shorts that barely reach mid-thigh. Legs curled slightly. One arm draped over his chest. The other folded underneath his pillow. His hair’s a mess. Silky platinum blonde curls tumbling into his eyes. His ears—those soft, downy bunny ears—twitch once, lazily, then still. I don't breathe for a moment.

I hid my glee, not expecting it to be so easy. "Great. I already have a bowl and water up in my room. Come on." I walked towards him and took his hand,. pulling him after me. He followed silently, and when we got to the room, I climbed onto the bed, not bothering to pull the covers over me. Seb sat beside me and slowly squeezed out the cloth I'd dunked in the water. I wondered if he noticed that instead of using a small towel like he had yesterday, I'd put in a tiny cotton handkerchief.