The next morning, Aryan stirred awake, his body half-suffocated by Marco's arms and legs wrapped tightly around him like a clingy human pillow. After the wild night they'd had, his body felt utterly drained—and worse, he couldn't feel anything below his hips.
"Did I get paralyzed or something? One of these days, this crazy guy's really going to ruin me..." he muttered under his breath, attempting to sit up. But before he could move, Marco's strong arm locked around his waist and pulled him back in.
"What's the rush?" Marco mumbled, his voice thick with sleep as he nuzzled into Aryan's shoulder. "Stay a little longer…"
Defeated, Aryan sank back into the bed, eyes drifting to Marco's face. His expression softened. "Honestly... maybe I don't mind being ruined by this guy," he thought with a faint smile.
"How long are you going to just stare at me like that?" Marco asked suddenly, eyes still closed. "Don't suppress your desires…"
"You—!" Aryan blushed, flustered.
