Free Web NovelChapter 120: Chapter 120 - Morning After
Iyisha woke slowly, the kind of waking that felt like dragging herself up from deep water, her body heavy and uncooperative beneath the covers. Everything ached. Not sharply, not painfully, but with a deep, lingering soreness that settled into her hips and thighs the moment she shifted. She winced softly and went still, breath catching as awareness crept in.
White walls.
A side table.
Too quiet.
She blinked, eyes adjusting, memories arriving in fragments that made heat rush straight to her face. Hands. Pressure. The way she had stopped thinking altogether. Her body answered before her mind could, the soreness confirming what the flashes already told her.
She turned her head.
Malcolm sat on the sofa nearby, posture relaxed but alert, reading something held loosely in his hands. The instant she moved, he sensed it. He looked up and slipped the item back into his bag without a word.
Their eyes met.
Her face burned.
"Morning," she muttered, voice rough, embarrassment making the word come out smaller than she meant.
"Morning," he replied quietly.
She pushed herself upright and immediately felt it again, the ache deepening with the movement, her body protesting as if reminding her just how far they had gone. The blanket shifted and she froze, realizing she was naked underneath it. Clean, though. Taken care of.
That only made it worse.
Malcolm stood, crossed the room, and held out a robe. She took it quickly, sliding into it and tying it shut with clumsy fingers, grateful for the cover, for something solid between her and her thoughts.
Her eyes drifted to the clock.
Three p.m.
She blinked hard.
She hadn’t just slept late. She had disappeared. She couldn’t remember when night had turned into morning, only the sense that they had gone on far too long to keep track of time.
She stood, then sucked in a sharp breath as the soreness flared again, her legs trembling slightly. Warmth followed, slow and unmistakable, and her stomach dropped.
"Oh," she whispered.
She hurried into the bathroom and shut the door, sitting down heavily, robe bunched around her waist. She stared at the floor, dazed, letting the last of it ease out of her, her body still sensitive, still humming.
And then the panic hit.
No condoms.
The thought landed hard, sharp enough to cut through the fog. Not once. Not even a pause. Just heat and impulse and whatever had been in their system pushing everything else aside. Her hands clenched in her lap, frustration mixing with fear as she replayed it in her head.
What was she thinking?
2nd time? Really?
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, breathing slowly, trying to ground herself. It was too soon to know anything. Too soon to spiral. But the worry refused to leave, settling low and heavy.
When she finally stood, she caught her reflection in the mirror and went still.
Messy hair.
Tired eyes.
Flushed skin.
And then she noticed the marks.
Faint bruises bloomed along her hips and thighs, darker shadows at her waist where his hands had held her too firmly, a dull ache settling deeper the longer she looked. Proof she couldn’t ignore, scattered across her skin like quiet accusations. Last night hadn’t been gentle. It hadn’t been careful.
Her stomach tightened.
Heat followed the ache, unwanted and embarrassing, curling through her despite herself.
"Seriously," she muttered under her breath, frustrated with herself.
This was not the time for her body to remember what her mind was trying to process.
She swallowed.
She needed to talk to him.
And that realization made her stomach twist even tighter than the soreness ever could.
She stepped back into the room slowly, still sore, still wrapped in the robe, and stopped short when she saw him sitting at the edge of the sofa, pulling on his boots. The mundane normalcy of it made her chest tighten.
She hovered for a second too long.
"I—" she started, then stopped. Her jaw tightened. She hated this. Hated how her mind kept circling the same thing and refusing to give it a proper shape.
Malcolm looked up briefly, attentive, waiting, not pushing.
She shook her head, a sharp, frustrated motion. "I can’t—" She let out a breath through her nose. "I’ll just... give me a minute."
He didn’t question it. He just nodded once and went back to his boots.
In the bathroom, she shut the door a little harder than necessary and leaned her forehead against it. Stupid, she thought. Say it. Just say it. But every time she tried, her face burned and her stomach twisted tighter.
She turned on the shower instead.
The hot water helped, steam filling the small space, loosening muscles that still ached deep and dull. She stood under it longer than she meant to, eyes closed, letting the fog blur everything. Her body reminded her of last night in quiet ways, soreness blooming when she shifted, a heavy fatigue that made her slow.
She scrubbed at her skin, methodical, almost too thorough, like she could wash away the embarrassment with the heat. It didn’t work. The worry stayed, coiled low, refusing to be ignored.
By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, she felt calmer but no less annoyed with herself. Drying off, pulling on clean clothes carefully, she practiced sentences in her head and discarded every single one.
Back in the room, Malcolm was finishing up, standing now, bag at his feet. She lingered by the table, fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, then finally exhaled hard.
"I... I’m sorry," she said instead, the words coming out sharper than she meant. "We were supposed to be gone already. We lost half the day and that’s on me."
Even as she said it, she winced.
That’s what you went with?
Really? That?
Her mind immediately jumped back to the thing she had almost said, the words that had crowded her tongue and refused to come out, and irritation flared hot in her chest. She clenched her jaw, annoyed at herself for dodging it, for defaulting to logistics instead of the real problem sitting heavy in her gut.
Say it, she scolded herself silently. Say the important part.
But she didn’t.
And the frustration of that sat with her, tight and unresolved, as she stood there pretending the delay was the only thing she needed to apologize for.
"It’s okay," he said looking away.
She frowned. "It’s not. We should be on the road."
He shrugged slightly, calm. "We’ll stay another night."
Just like that.
The tension drained out of her shoulders before she could stop it. She nodded, relief and lingering frustration mixing in her chest. "Okay," she said quietly. "Okay."
They finished getting ready in near silence, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, just full. When everything was packed, he slung his bag over his shoulder and opened the door, stepping aside to let her go first.
She paused, then glanced back at him, forcing a crooked little smile. "So," she said lightly, a little too casual, "round two at the restaurant?"
One corner of his mouth lifted. He nodded once, amused, and held the door open wider.
She stepped out ahead of him, keeping her posture steady until they were clear of the room and the door closed behind them, wincing as the soreness caught up with her.
"Goddamnit," she muttered under her breath, straightening quickly and walking on before him as if nothing was wrong.
