Morning After
by Terra & Bright — still glowing from the night before ✨
The light poured in softly and golden, like even the sun was trying not to disturb what had happened the night before.
I stirred, slowly waking to the warm weight of Bright's arm wrapped around my waist. My head rested perfectly against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat making me feel safe. Wanted. Seen.
I blinked her eyes open and looked down — and smiled.
I was wearing his shirt. Nothing else. It hung off my shoulders just right, the fabric warm with his scent. A little wrinkled from the night's… activities. My legs were tangled with his under the sheets, and he? He was still in just his underwear — toned, golden skin, abs on full display, and a smirk already forming as he realized I was awake.
"Morning, beautiful," he murmured, voice still rough from sleep. Deep. Flirty. His eyes opened, and they locked onto mine like I was the only thing worth waking up for.
I smiled, blushing without meaning to. "Hi…"
Bright leaned in, brushed a lazy kiss over my forehead, and whispered, "You sleep good? Or did I keep you up too much last night?" He grinned — teasing, but with full intention behind it. And I felt the butterflies swirl back into my chest like they never even left.
I giggled softly, burying my face in his neck. "You definitely kept me up."
"Well," he said, sitting up just enough to pull me closer, "guess I better give you a reason to stay in bed longer… or make it up to you with breakfast."
Before I could even answer, he was already slipping out of bed — and oh god — that moment hit me again. The way he pulled his pants down last night. The way he moved. The way I saw everything. That image was burned into my memory like a favorite song on repeat.
And now? Watching him walk out of the bedroom in nothing but his underwear, scratching the back of his neck, humming softly while heading to the kitchen? It was like a movie scene I never wanted to end.
I stretched in his shirt, letting my bare legs dangle off the bed, still feeling the echo of his hands, his lips, his voice from last night.
From the kitchen, I heard the sizzle of eggs, the clink of a pan — and then his voice again, calling out playfully, "You planning to come out here, babe? Or do I gotta come carry you out again like I did last night?"
I bit my lip, laughing, as I padded out to the kitchen, still barefoot, still just in his shirt.
He turned around when he heard me. And damn — that look he gave me? Like he was undressing me with his eyes, even though he knew exactly what was (and wasn't) underneath.
"You look better in my shirt than I do," he said, voice smooth, sweet, and way too confident for this early in the morning.
"And you," I teased, leaning against the counter, "look like a Calvin Klein ad."
He grinned and walked over to me, kissed me slowly, then whispered against my lips:
"Round two after breakfast?"
I moaned — soft, involuntary — because the butterflies weren't just fluttering now. They were flying wild.
And I knew one thing for sure:
This wasn't just a night. This was something real.