Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Brielle was lounging on the couch while Max stood. She wrapped her arm around him, leaving her head resting against his midsection. Max froze for a moment, then felt her hand slip under his shirt– deliberately igniting his lust. A shadow passed over his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

He chucked the remote control, not bothering to see if it landed on the coffee table. He spun around, pinned her to the couch, and kissed her fiercely.

Brielle felt breathless, on the verge of suffocation, before he released her. Clothes littered the path from the living room to the bedroom. Max carried the faint scent of liquor–he must have had a drink here, evidenced by the small wine glass still resting on the coffee table. His eyes, slightly intoxicated with warmth, imprisoned her completely in his embrace as he hoisted her up. Startled by the vulnerability of the position, Brielle’s cheeks flushed. “Hey, easy,” she murmured.

Their bodies pressed close together.

In truth, she didn’t want him to be gentle. She wanted him to be rougher, to completely unravel her so that she could feel his presence instead of a gesture of rejection.

His rejection was painful. His indifference drove her mad. She wanted to be entwined tightly with him, to forget everything else for a moment and focus only on each other.

Neither asked why they didn’t answer calls or texts; physical communication was far more honest.

Hours later, Brielle was exhausted and on the edge of sleep. Her feet pushed against him, too tired to speak. Drops of sweat beaded on Max’s forehead, sliding from his jaw to her chest. The bedroom light was dim as Brielle woke, watching him through half–lidded eyes just in time to see the sweat drip onto her skin.

At that moment, she felt the heat of his sweat turn dry, then red, and finally, like a tattooed mark on her chest.

She had so much to say, so many questions, but for now, she just gazed at him with shimmering eyes.

Max’s breathing grew heavy again, and he covered her eyes with his hand. “Stop looking, just sleep,” he said. Her gaze made his body react and feel like she was dependent on him, that she couldn’t let go. But he wasn’t so sure himself.

འང རར ཆར ཆཅ ཥཾ ༤༤ �ཋོ � ï�ྜ� � ཧ ��ྞཾ ཆ ཚ�â – F�༅ གཙ� ཟཟོ ན གོ ཆེན ཅ�ྜ ཝ�

Brielle’s eyelashes fluttered against his palm as she mumbled, “Don’t leave me.”

Max tensed, feeling as if his palm was scorched. All the words in the world couldn’t weigh against that single plea. His heart’s

bitterness and sense of loss vanished, replaced by a light chuckle. Wasn’t this what he was worried about?

“I won’t.”

“I’m sorry for slapping you. Maybe you can slap me back to even it out?” With her eyes still closed, Brielle’s willpower was the only thing

keeping her talking. She feared it was all a dream, that Max would vanish upon waking. So, while she still had the strength, she wanted

to say everything on her mind.

“I don’t blame you for the scarf. I lost the rosary too, so please don’t blame me. We both lost something of each other’s. Let’s call it

even, okay?” This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

Max felt a softening in his heart, but it wasn’t sweet, it was more sour. How could affection be like this? They were so close. She was in

his arms, yet he wanted to be closer, to blend her into his being.

All his emotions–grievances, touches of affection, sourness–surged in his heart.

“Yeah.”

Hearing his affirmative response, Brielle’s lips curved slightly, and she fell into a

own words when she woke up.

peaceful sleep. Perhaps she wouldn’t remember her

Max held her close, noting the sunlight already streaming in, filling the room with warmth. He also hadn’t rested in a long time. Now, with his worries set aside, he closed his eyes as well.

Brielle slept soundly until she woke to see the empty room, her heart skipping a beat. She feared last night had indeed been a dream, but as she got out of bed, the soreness in her body told a different story, and her cheeks reddened.

As she wrapped herself in a robe and headed to the bathroom, she overheard Max on the phone. “Don’t make the oatmeal too sweet. She doesn’t like it that way. Be here in ten minutes, yeah.”

After hanging up, Max continued staring at his laptop, wearing just a bathrobe, his skin glowing. Brielle finished freshening up just as the doorbell rang. She saw Annie standing outside, hesitating.

Annie gave her a small smile, her arms laden with two large food containers. “Ms. Brielle, I brought some documents for Max and thought I’d bring you breakfast too. He mentioned you might be hungry.”

Seeing Annie, a delicate girl burdened with both paperwork and substantial food containers, Brielle’s doubts dissipated. Max wasn’t indifferent to women’s needs. He just didn’t extend the same care to others. No other man would treat a dainty lady this way.