ISABELLA'S POV
When the high finally broke over me—shattering and deep—I went still in his arms, boneless, trembling, struggling to remember how to breathe.
Adrien didn't say a word.
He rose slowly and reached behind him.
His pajama shirt.
The oversized one I'd laughed about earlier.
He picked it up and—without hesitation—draped it over me.
Before I could speak, before I could even blink, he slipped one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, lifting me in one fluid motion.
Princess style.
I gasped, clutching at his chest. My palms landed flat against bare skin—warm, solid muscle beneath my fingers.
And just like that, I was blushing.
He looked down at me, smirk tugging at his lips. "Why are your cheeks red?"
"You're carrying me half-naked through your mansion," I muttered.
"That's not really an answer."
I turned my face away, embarrassed. "I touched your chest, okay?"
