Mason helped her stand and guided her toward the bedroom. The room was small—just a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk. But the sheets were clean, and the faint scent of laundry detergent lingered in the air.
Sophia sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him.
"Lie down for a while," Mason said. "I'll clean up out there."
"Okay."
He turned to leave, but Sophia suddenly called out.
"Mason."
He glanced back.
"Thank you."
He looked at her, offered a small smile, and walked out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Sophia lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The sheets smelled like him—clean, warm. She buried her face in the pillow, took a deep breath, and couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips.
She didn't know what she was expecting, but in that moment, she didn't want to leave.
Outside, Mason cleared the table, placed the dishes in the sink, and went to the kitchen. He sliced a lemon and fixed a cup of warm lemon water.
He checked the time—half an hour had passed.
He carried the cup and gently pushed open the bedroom door.
The room was quiet, filled only with Sophia's soft breathing. She lay curled on her side, eyes closed, her lashes casting faint shadows under the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Her hair fanned out across the pillow, lips slightly parted in deep sleep.
Mason sat on the edge of the bed and watched her.
She looked softer asleep than awake. No defenses, no pretense—just a regular, tired girl.
"Sophia," he called softly.
No response.
He tried again.
She finally frowned slightly and slowly opened her eyes.
"Hmm…" Her voice was husky with sleep.
Mason handed her the lemon water. "Here. It'll help with the hangover."
Sophia took the cup and sipped slowly. The warm, tangy-sweet water felt soothing. "Good," she said, handing the empty cup back to him.
He took it and stood up.
"You should rest a bit more. I'll—"
"Wait." Sophia suddenly reached out and caught his wrist.
He turned back, meeting her gaze.
Her face flushed, but she didn't let go.
"You… you could lie down for a while too," she whispered, her voice almost inaudible.
The room fell silent for a second.
Mason looked at her, his heart skipping a beat. He saw the nervousness in her eyes, the hope, and a hint of fear that he might refuse.
He didn't speak. Instead, he quietly set the cup on the nightstand and lay down beside her.
The bed was small. Lying this close, they could hear each other breathe, feel the warmth radiating between them.
Neither said a word.
Sophia lay stiffly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, fast and wild. She didn't know why she was so nervous, or what might happen next, but she knew she didn't want him to leave.
She could feel his presence, his warmth seeping through their thin clothes, making her skin flush.
Her breathing grew uneven, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
Mason turned his head to look at her. In the dim light, her profile was soft, her lashes fluttering faintly, lips pressed gently together. A faint blush colored her cheeks—whether from the alcohol or from nerves, he couldn't tell.
He watched the rise and fall of her chest, saw her fingers unconsciously gripping the sheets.
"Mason," she finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Have you… ever had a girlfriend?"
He paused, then gave a soft laugh.
"No."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Really?"
"Really." He met her gaze. "Working at a convenience store, living in a basement, worrying about rent every day… when would I have had time for a relationship?"
Sophia was quiet for a few seconds. "I've never had a boyfriend either."
Mason watched her.
"Growing up, everyone around me was like Jeffrey," she continued, a trace of bitterness in her voice. "Spoiled heirs, or people trying to get close to my family. I've never… never met someone I truly liked."
Her eyes grew moist again.
"Until I met you."
Mason didn't speak, only tightened his grip on her hand.
Sophia looked at him, then gathered her courage and shifted closer.
The distance between them shrank until they could feel each other's breath.
"Mason," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Yeah?"
"Can I…"
She didn't finish, but Mason understood.
He slowly raised his hand and gently cupped her cheek. Her skin was smooth, warm against his palm.
Sophia closed her eyes, her lashes trembling faintly.
Mason looked at her—at her face, softened by the lamplight, suddenly feeling a tenderness he'd never known before.
He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers.
Light, feather-soft.
Sophia's body shuddered, then gradually relaxed. Her hands found his shoulders, returning the kiss with clumsy inexperience.
It was light, brief, but it sent both their hearts racing wildly.
When they parted, Sophia opened her eyes, meeting his gaze up close. Her cheeks were flushed like ripened apples, her eyes bright as stars.
"Mason," she breathed.
"Yeah?"
"I… I like you."
He looked into her eyes—at the sincerity and shyness there, at her slightly trembling lips—and felt a stirring he'd never known.
"I like you too," he said.
Sophia smiled—a pure, uncomplicated joy, like sunlight breaking through clouds.
She leaned in again and kissed him.
This time, the kiss was deeper. No longer a question, but an affirmation.
Mason's hand settled lightly on her waist, pulling her closer. She could feel the warmth of his body, the strong rhythm of his heart.
The kiss lasted a long time—until they were both breathless.
When they finally parted, Sophia buried her face against his chest, too shy to look at him.
"Was I… too forward just now?" she mumbled.
Mason chuckled, gently stroking her hair.
"No."
"Really?"
"Really," he said, looking down at her. "I like it when you take the lead."
Sophia lifted her head and shot him a mock glare, her cheeks still flushed, but the happiness in her eyes was impossible to hide.
They held each other in silence.
After a while, Sophia shifted, nestling more comfortably against him.
"Mason," she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Hold me tighter."
He didn't reply, only tightened his arms, wrapping her completely in his embrace.
She could feel his heartbeat—steady, strong. Her own pulse gradually slowed, falling into rhythm with his.
The room was quiet, filled only with their soft breathing.
Sophia closed her eyes, soaking in his warmth, his scent, the safety of his arms around her. She'd never felt this before—not just protected, but cherished.
Sometime later, she felt something press against her lower back.
At first, she didn't understand, but her body soon tensed.
She knew what it was.
Her breathing hitched, her cheeks burning.
Mason felt her stiffen. He knew she'd noticed. He tried to shift away, but his body refused to obey.
The only sounds in the room were their growing, ragged breaths.
Then, Mason rolled over, pinning her beneath him.
Sophia's eyes widened, meeting his gaze up close. His eyes held something she'd never seen before—raw, scorching, uncontrollable desire.
"Mason…" Her voice shook.
He didn't speak, only watched her, breathing heavily.
Sophia's heart hammered against her ribs. She was afraid, but not entirely. Nervous, yet somehow anticipating. She didn't know what to do, could only watch him, waiting for his next move.
"Sophia," his voice was hoarse, unfamiliar.
"Yeah?"
"I…"
He didn't finish, but Sophia understood.
She looked at him—at the fire in his eyes, the tension in his face—and suddenly felt a strange tenderness rise within her.
Slowly, she raised her hand and gently touched his cheek.
"I know," she whispered. "Me too."
Mason froze.
He looked down at her, saw the soft understanding in her eyes, and felt the fire inside him soften, just a little.
"Sophia," he rasped. "I want…"
Sophia's face burned hotter, but she didn't look away.
"I…" She opened her mouth, her voice almost inaudible. "Mason, I… can't. Not yet…"
His breath hitched.
"Family rules…" Sophia struggled to speak, each word seeming forced. "Before marriage… we can't…"
She didn't finish, but Mason understood.
He looked into her eyes, saw the panic and guilt there, and suddenly realized what he was doing.
He rolled off her, lying beside her again, staring at the ceiling as he took deep, ragged breaths.
Sophia turned her head to look at him. His profile was tense, his Adam's apple bobbing as if fighting for control.
"Sorry," he rasped.
Sophia didn't speak. She simply watched him—his clenched fists, the slight tremor in his shoulders.
Her heart ached.
This man who never seemed to need anyone's pity now looked so… vulnerable, because he'd held himself back for her.
Slowly, she reached out and took his hand.
Mason turned to look at her.
Sophia's face was still flushed, but her eyes held no fear, no blame—only a soft, reassuring tenderness.
"Mason," she whispered, her voice shy yet firm. "I like you. I really do."
He watched her, silent.
Sophia bit her lip, then continued, "Even though… even though we can't do that… other things… other things are okay."
Mason stared, confused.
"What?"
Sophia didn't answer. Instead, she slowly, tremblingly, reached down, her hand slipping beneath the covers.
Mason inhaled sharply.
Her hand was cool, small—clumsy, tentative as it closed around him.
"Like this?" she whispered, nervous and unsure.
Mason didn't speak. He closed his eyes, his breathing growing ragged.
Sophia watched him, watched his reactions, and felt a strange sense of satisfaction. She knew she was doing it right—even though she knew nothing, even though her movements were laughably inexperienced, she was giving him pleasure.
She continued, her motions growing gradually more confident. She heard his breathing grow heavier, heard the occasional suppressed sound escape him, saw his brow furrow and relax.
"Sophia…" His voice was rough.
"Yeah?"
"You… you don't have to…"
"I want to," she whispered, cutting him off. "I want to make you feel good."
Mason said no more. He let his eyes stay closed, surrendering to her touch.
Sophia watched him intently, noting every reaction. Her movements were unskilled, but she was focused. She tried to memorize the rhythm that made his breath catch, the pressure that made him tense. Slowly, she found what worked best for him.
In the quiet of the room, the sound of two heartbeats and another, softer rhythm wove together into a harmony that belonged only to them.
Sometime later, Mason suddenly gripped her hand tightly, his whole body tensing.
"Sophia… I'm…" His voice was barely recognizable.
Then, he let out a long, shuddering breath, his body going slack.
Sophia's breathing stopped. She stared, stunned, at the sticky wetness on her hand, her face instantly burning crimson.
Mason opened his eyes, looked at her, and slowly smiled—a smile of unprecedented relief and softness.
"Sorry," he said, his voice still hoarse. "Made a mess."
Sophia finally snapped out of it, flustered as she looked for tissues, nearly tumbling off the bed in her haste.
Mason quickly caught her, then reached for the tissue box on the nightstand. He pulled out several sheets and gently, carefully wiped her fingers clean, as if handling something precious.
Sophia kept her head down, too embarrassed to look at him, her face as red as a boiled lobster.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She looked up, confused, her cheeks still flushed.
"For what?"
"For this," Mason said, meeting her eyes seriously. "Thank you… for being willing to do that for me."
Her heart skipped.
She looked at him, at those earnest, gentle eyes, and suddenly felt that all the earlier nervousness and shyness had been worth it.
"Don't… don't thank me," she murmured.
They looked at each other, then both broke into quiet laughter.
Mason lay back down and pulled her into his arms. Sophia nestled obediently against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
"Mason," she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Did… did it feel good?"
He paused, then chuckled softly.
"Yeah. It did."
Sophia buried her face against his chest, a smile tugging at her lips.
"Good."
With the alcohol and the release, they simply held each other, neither speaking another word.
Sometime later, the alarm on the nightstand phone buzzed.
Sophia blinked her eyes open, groggy. She didn't know when she'd fallen asleep, but now she was curled in Mason's arms, his limbs wrapped around her, their position intimate and natural.
Mason shifted, reaching out to silence the alarm.
"What time is it?" Sophia mumbled.
"Eleven-thirty," Mason said, looking down at her. "I should take you home."
Sophia was silent for a moment, then gave a soft, "Okay."
She sat up, smoothing her slightly rumpled clothes. Her face was still flushed, her eyes avoiding his.
Mason sat up too, watching her. The warm lamplight fell across her face. She kept her gaze down, lashes fluttering, lips pressed together with a youthful shyness and fluster.
He couldn't help but reach out, gently tilting her chin up so she'd look at him.
Sophia's eyes held a soft haze, glistening in the light. She looked at him, lips slightly parted as if wanting to speak but finding no words.
Mason leaned down and brushed a light kiss against her lips.
Gentle, tender—like a promise.
Sophia closed her eyes, feeling the kiss. Her heart raced again, but this time it wasn't from nerves. It was from sweetness.
When they parted, Mason rested his forehead against hers and whispered, "Thank you for letting me know there's someone in this world who likes me—not for who I am, but just for being me."
Sophia's eyes grew moist again.
"You too," she whispered. "You let me know there's someone who likes me—not because I'm a Rockefeller, but just because I'm Sophia."
They smiled at each other.
"Come on," Mason released her. "Let's get you home."