Not Just Deserving, But Only You

She slightly tilted her gaze, the corner of her eyes catching a glimpse of a black shirt.

Then, she was enveloped by a cool woody scent, her back pressed tightly against the man's solid, warm chest.

"How’s your injury?" Cynthia, worried about the wound on his chest, didn't dare to get too close.

Tristan's arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. He slightly leaned down, his thin lips pressing against her temple as he whispered, "Didn't I prove that to you last night?"

Cynthia, "..."

The deep, ambiguous tone of his voice caused her mind to involuntarily recall the indulgent moments from the previous night.

A flush rose on her fair cheeks without warning.

Especially when she felt the warmth of his chest and the heat of his breath, she became somewhat uncomfortable and tried to squirm away.