As the weekend approached, the clock struck nine, signaling the impending close of their shared hours.

Rain cascaded from the heavens, a torrential dance upon the world outside.

Rena’s gaze lingered on the drenched scene beyond the window, her voice a mere whisper, laden with curiosity and Longing.

“It’s autumn.

Why is it still raining so heavily?”

In an instant, the sky responded, a bolt of lightning rending the darkness asunder.

Startled, Rena sought refuge in Waylen’s protective embrace.

He had taken a shower and now, his visage exuded a newfound vitality, and his essence imbued with a masculine allure.

The bathrobe dr@ped around his form was a testament to his casual confidence, its simple elegance only serving to amplify his presence.

Rena, ensconced against his chest, felt the rhythm of his heart, each beat a testament to the emotions that intertwined them.

A veil of shyness dr@ped over Rena, her cheeks suffused with a rosy hue.

Waylen’s voice, a husky timbre rich with emotion, broke the silence, encircling her like a cocoon.

His arms enveloped her, their warmth a balm against the uncertainties that lingered in the air.

“Perhaps it’s because I simply can’t bear to see you leave,“ he confessed.

Rena, a woman of twenty, carried with her the weight of apprehension when it came to spending the night with a man.

She held her ground, unwavering in her determination to wait out the storm.

Waylen, his arms wrapped around her in a protective embrace, led them to the balcony that stood before the expanse of the French window.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he playfully whispered, “Do you have so Little faith in me?”

His words bore a hint of mirth, and the sight of her delicate blush only deepened his affection.

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His heart held an exceptional tenderness, not that desire was absent, but a reluctance to act Lingered.

He was aware he would soon depart.

Even within this dream, he yearned to shield her from sorrow.

Drawing her close, he retrieved his phone, fingertips dialing Darren’s number.

The connection was swift, and under Rena’s watchful gaze, he conveyed his message with a resolute assurance.

“Mr.

Gordon, this is Waylen.

The rain is heavy, and Rena won’t be returning.

Rest assured, I’ll take care of her.

The call ended, Rena’s eyes fixed upon him in bewilderment.

Waylen discarded the phone, his gaze tender yet playful.

With a gentle maneuver, he guided her down onto the soft expanse of white wool carpet.

A touch, tender as a butterfly’s ki*s, met the tip of her nose.

“What are you thinking about? Do you associate spending the night with intimacy?”

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