Oriana's eyes flew open and found Arlan's face leaning close to her, half-kneeling on the bed, his hands holding on her pants hovering above her thighs, and their intimate position caused another explosion of heat to cause her face to be as red as ripe tomato. But surprisingly, she didn't panic—or rather, showed no outward signs of it.
"Alright."
Oriana was about to put her hands on the bed to support her body when Arlan's next words made her pause.
"Hold on to me," he said, his other hand supporting the small of her back. As soon as she placed her hands on his shoulders, he hoisted her up. She felt the fabric of the pants swiftly, almost effortlessly sliding under her. The entire time, his gaze was fixed on her face, more precisely her eyes.
Arlan slowly and gently put her down on the bed, and his hands moved to button her pants. He then moved away, putting away the items scattered on the bed.
