Arden had precisely demonstrated to Sandra, through his actions, the true meaning of "indulgence in desire."

The entire weekend was basically spent in Arden's bed.

They would sleep after they were done, eat after waking up, watch some TV or chat for a while, change to a fresh set of sheets, take a shower, and then continue.

Repeating the same thing over and over could easily lead to numbness and fatigue. But Arden showed no sign of slowing down or tiring. Yet, just because he didn't want to stop didn't mean Sandra would keep indulging in this endless cycle with him.

Sandra knew Arden's father was in the house. With them spending nearly the entire weekend behind closed doors—only interrupted when Arden stepped out to grab food or wait for takeout—she couldn't help but wonder what his dad might think of the situation.

After a brief hesitation, she tentatively asked, "Are we just going to stay in your room like this?"

Arden, lounging comfortably with an arm draped around her waist, let his hand move lazily up and down her side. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, his tone casual.

Sandra glanced toward the bedroom door, then lowered her eyes, unsure how to voice her concern.

Sensing her unease, Arden gave a reassuring smile. "I went out to get takeout earlier. My dad didn't seem to be here anymore—I think he's gone back home."

Anyway, the old man had only come to see his girlfriend. After meeting Sandra and seemingly approving of her, he'd decided there was no need to meddle any further.

Sandra visibly relaxed, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. She hadn't expected Arden's father to be so lenient—allowing him to bring women home with barely a question, then leaving without further involvement. It felt oddly laissez-faire.

But only Arden understood the real reason behind it. His father's hands-off attitude wasn't born out of trust or indifference. It was more like a last meal for a death row inmate—a fleeting kindness before something heavier loomed on the horizon.

Arden's father had his own way of handling things. As long as Arden wasn't harmed—no sickness, no drugs, no gambling addiction, nothing truly destructive—the old man wouldn't concern himself too much with who Arden chose to spend time with before marriage. The only hard rule was not to get the girl pregnant. He still trusted that Arden could keep things under control.

Besides, their first meeting had left a good impression. Arden's father had seen countless women in his life, and with his sharp eye for character, he had recognized Sandra's simplicity and straightforward nature. That was enough for him to step back and let things run their course.

But this freedom came at a price.

When the time came for Arden to marry, the choice would no longer be his. His father's silence now was a trade-off—the liberty of the present in exchange for the inevitable surrender of his right to refuse in the future.

These were things Arden wouldn't share with Sandra. Not yet. He didn't see the need to burden her with such weighty matters.

In this moment, he liked her—liked her so much it was almost unbearable. He wished he could merge her into his very being.

But no one could predict who would be by his side five years from now, or even just five days later.

As the Chinese proverb went: A night of passion is worth a thousand gold coins. He wasn't about to take a loss.

🎬🔀

"Sizzle..."

Another egg landed in the pan, its edges crisping as Sandra carefully adjusted the mold to keep it from sticking.

Now that she knew it was just the two of them at home, she no longer felt the need to confine herself to the bedroom. Occasionally, she would venture out, wandering through Arden's house, taking in her surroundings.

The two-story home featured three bedrooms, a study, a home gym, and spacious living and dining areas, along with a well-equipped kitchen. For someone living alone, it was more than luxurious.

Initially, the kitchen hadn't been particularly well-stocked. But the moment Sandra mentioned wanting to cook for him, Arden made a quick phone call. Within hours, the housekeeper had arrived—filling the fridge to the brim, tidying the bedroom and bathroom, and even whisking away the pile of bed sheets for laundering.

Having money to hire help really did make life easier. And yet, Sandra couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she owed someone something. This kind of effortless luxury felt foreign to her—a stark contrast to the life she was used to.

Some people just aren't built for a life of indulgence, she thought.

And then there were those bed sheets... Just thinking about them sent a rush of heat to her cheeks.

Arden followed the enticing scent of cooking downstairs, curiosity pulling him forward. From a distance, he spotted Sandra in the open kitchen, wearing one of his oversized T-shirts. Her bare legs peeked out beneath the hem, and her long hair was loosely pinned up with two chopsticks.

The sight stirred something warm and familiar in his chest. Ever since she had made him instant noodles at her place, moments like this had filled him with an indescribable contentment. But now, seeing her in his clothes, in his kitchen, that warmth deepened into something more profound.

Over the past few days, Sandra had been pampered by him, and it showed. The rough edges of her usual demeanor had softened, revealing a quiet, irresistible charm.

A woman, he mused, is like a flower. When cherished, she blooms—vibrant, enchanting, her allure impossible to resist. 

Watching her now, he found himself licking his lips involuntarily. A sly idea crept into his mind—he should buy her a couple of sexy aprons. The thought of her wearing nothing but an apron, moving gracefully through the kitchen, made his pulse quicken. Yes, he thought, that would make her utterly captivating.

"Kitten, how diligent," Arden murmured as he approached from behind. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her gently into him, and he lazily rested his chin on her shoulder.

Sandra flinched slightly at the sudden contact but didn't resist. Her focus remained on the pan in front of her, though her body softened under his touch.

She's like a cat, Arden thought.

When he had first met her, she had been all claws and sharp edges—biting words, a fierce presence, always leaving a mark when he got too close.

Now, she was tamed. 

She was obedient, but not in a way that diminished her. She still carried that innate stubbornness, that relentless strength that made her irresistibly captivating. But the way she let him twist her into whatever shape he wanted, the way she surrendered so naturally, felt like a rare gift, freely given.

And it made his chest ache. With the need to protect her. To care for her. To keep her close.

The strange blend of tenderness and desire she stirred in him was overwhelming.

All he knew was that he wanted to cherish her even more.

Sandra felt the scratch of his stubble against her neck and instinctively pulled back, lightly tapping his head with the spatula. "Go sit down, or you'll end up splashed with oil."

Arden, however, was undeterred. He kept his arms wrapped around her waist, clinging to her like a stubborn crab. When she sidestepped to the cupboard to grab a plate, he shuffled along with her, perfectly in sync. Even as she turned off the heat and began transferring eggs and bacon onto the plate, he remained glued to her, peeking over her shoulder like an oversized child who refused to let go.

"Wow, this egg is adorable," Arden said, pointing to the clover-shaped fried egg on the plate.

Sandra grinned and picked up a large green pepper ring with her chopsticks. "I should charge extra for creativity."

Arden buried his face in her neck, pressing a kiss against her skin. "Forget creativity," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "Can I buy something else from you instead?"

Sandra swatted his hand away as it crept toward her breast, muttering under her breath, "Your mind is always full of dirty thoughts"

Arden leaned closer, feigning innocence. "Who says that? My mind is full of pure, wholesome thoughts."

The toaster dinged, and the bread popped up just in time. Sandra reached out to grab it, but her fingers accidentally brushed against the stainless steel shell.

"Ouch!" She quickly pulled her hand back.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Arden asked, immediately grabbing her hand. The tips of her fingers were slightly red, marked by a barely noticeable dot.

"It's nothing," Sandra said, gently pulling her hand away. This tiny spot was nothing compared to the bruises and scrapes she'd earned from years of training and competition.

But before she could say more, Arden abruptly let go. In the blink of an eye, the toaster was in the trash can.

"What kind of junk did Moya buy?" he snapped, his voice edged with anger.

Sandra sighed inwardly, shaking her head. "At least take the bread out first."

The two unfortunate slices of toast lay atop the trash can, their toasted cat patterns looked perfect and undeniably cute.

Sandra never would have guessed that Moya, of all people, would buy something so whimsical and girly.

Maybe, she thought, every woman—no matter how cool, proud, or strong she appeared on the surface—had a softer, more playful side hidden within. A side that only revealed itself in the presence of the right person.

Still, Sandra struggled to picture Moya in any sort of domestic setting. To her, Moya was a queen—the kind who kept men under her heel with effortless grace. A queen commanded loyalty and admiration; she didn't settle into the mundane rhythms of a home.

Arden had casually mentioned that all the kitchenware and utensils in this kitchen had been bought by Moya. No one but Moya had ever used them.

Moya had told Sandra plenty about Arden, but she'd never explained their relationship. And Arden never brought it up either.

They must have known each other for a long time—so long that explanations felt unnecessary. Their familiarity was effortless, almost unnervingly so. When they were together, there were no barriers. They spoke and acted freely, even facing each other naked without hesitation; it all seemed entirely natural.

And that was exactly why Sandra couldn't bring herself to ask.

She admitted it—she was jealous.

"Take it to the table," Sandra said, shoving the plates into Arden's hands. He leaned in, stealing a quick kiss before heading toward the dining room.

Sandra lingered in the kitchen, glancing around. It always felt a little strange, as if she were intruding on someone else's space—a territory that wasn't hers to claim.

But Arden didn't give her a chance to dwell on the feeling. He returned almost immediately, scooped her up—his other breakfast—and carried her out.

"Hey, put me down!" Sandra protested.

Was Arden ever the type to obey so easily?

Cradled in his arms, Sandra didn't wait for an answer. With a swift twist, she hooked one leg around his arm, using her waist and momentum to flip herself over his shoulder. She landed gracefully on her feet, then, for good measure, delivered a smack on his waist as she straightened up.

Arden winced, his back aching from the surprise. Who had ever said this kitten was tame?

Before she could smirk at her small victory, he turned swiftly, catching her in his arms again and dropping them both into a chair. "Oh, so you're fighting back now? Let's see how far you can run."

She squirmed in his lap, trying to stand, but his grip tightened, holding her firmly in place. His voice dropped, mock impatience lacing his tone. "Sit still and eat."

Sandra shot him a sharp glare. "How am I supposed to eat like this?"

Arden reached for a glass of milk, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I'll feed you."

Holding her securely, he lifted the glass to her lips, indulging her like the kitten he so often teased her about.

Arden had never fed anyone before. Half the milk spilled over Sandra, trickling from her lips and soaking into the oversized shirt she was wearing.

Fresh milk—too precious to waste. Arden set the glass aside and leaned closer, tracing the trail with his tongue.

"Hey! Arden, stop—what are you doing?" Sandra squirmed, tilting her head to escape him. But with his body pinning hers against the table, there was nowhere to retreat. She tensed, careful not to spill anything else on the table.

Arden's hand slipped between her thighs, his teeth grazing her ear as he murmured, "Stop what? Hmm? Walking around without underwear... who exactly are you trying to seduce?" His voice dipped, teasing yet laced with intent. "Mouthy as ever... such a little troublemaker."

Sandra's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. She twisted slightly, trying to escape his hold. "I don't have anything to change into," she muttered, frustrated.

Arden chuckled, utterly unbothered. "Oh? We'll go out later and buy you something."

She frowned, tilting her head to look at him. "Don't you have class today?"

"What class?" He raised a brow, smirking. "How come I don't remember?"

Sandra let out a sigh, exasperated. This scoundrel... If he hadn't told her he had class today, who would be willing to wake up so early to cook for him? Her body still ached, every muscle begging to crawl back under the covers.

She really shouldn't let herself slack off. In the past, when soreness crept in after competitions, she'd get up even earlier to run and stretch, soothing her muscles and shaking off the fatigue. But now... she was starting to linger in bed.

Was his bed that irresistible? 

"Let's eat first, okay?" Sandra tried to reason with him, hoping to shift his attention.

But Arden, clearly uninterested in food, lifted her effortlessly, placing her right next to their breakfast on the table.

"I'd rather eat you first."

The oversized T-shirt slipped from her shoulder. With a flick of his wrist, he stripped it off entirely and tossed it far away.

Sandra cast a glance at the food on the table. "But I want to eat first."

Arden smirked. "Fine, here you go." 

He picked up a piece of soft, untoasted bread and pressed it between her lips. Just as she bit down, he thrust into her without warning, filling her with a deep, deliberate stroke.

"Satisfied? Hmm?" His voice was low, teasing, yet edged with hunger. "Let's see if I can feed you enough..."

This man had far too much energy. Sandra wondered if every man in his early twenties was like this. No wonder her ex had gone behind her back to find another woman. Keeping someone in an ascetic state for six months was practically inhumane.

And now, it seemed, karma had come full circle.

She had run into this rogue—someone who knew a woman's body far too well. Willing or not, he could easily pull a reaction from her with just a few well-placed tactics. Against him, with her limited self-control, she never stood a chance.

Once she fell through the door of desire, it was like plunging into a vast sea—purity became nothing more than a fleeting illusion. Most importantly, she liked him, which meant she was inevitably drawn into his grasp, powerless to resist.

Still, a strange unease prickled at the back of her mind. Sandra couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them from the kitchen. She knew it was just her imagination—there was no way anyone else could be in the house. Yet, the sensation lingered, making it hard to completely surrender to the moment. 

She tightened her grip on Arden's shoulders, her breath uneven. "Let's change places, okay?"

Arden glanced down at her, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Kitten, the table's too much for you?"

"No..."

She didn't get the chance to finish.

With an effortless motion, he wrapped her legs around his waist, gripping her hips as he lifted her. Moving toward the living room, he rocked her in sync with his steps, murmuring in a slow, teasing rhythm, "Alright, alright, changing places. Let's find somewhere comfortable... One, two, three, four... two, two, three, four..."

🎬🔀

Sandra lay sprawled across Arden's chest, her fingers idly tugging at an absurdly long body hair she'd discovered. Twirling it between her fingers, she smirked and teased, "You're really not going to class?"

Arden caught her mischievous hand before she could pluck the hair, baring his teeth playfully as if to bite. Sandra squealed, yanking her hand back and smacking his firm chest twice in mock protest.

He chuckled, the deep sound reverberating beneath her cheek. Wrapping an arm securely around her waist, he began to trace slow, deliberate circles against her back. "Why are you so eager to send me off to class?"

Sandra tilted her face upward, her lips curving into a pout. "Your father will blame me for delaying your studies." Yet, even as she spoke, she nestled closer, pressing her cheek to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

She loved this feeling—being wrapped in his solid warmth, his chest a haven of quiet strength. Here, in his arms, she felt inexplicably safe, as though nothing in the world could reach her.

Arden ran his fingers through her loose, spread-out hair, idly tangling them in the strands. "It doesn't really matter if I go to class or not." he said lazily. "Summer classes are just group projects and essays. As long as I pass the final, it's fine."

Sandra sighed softly. "I don't even know what you're studying."

"You don't need to know," Arden replied, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he tilted her chin upward. "It's not like you can take the exam for me, even if you knew."

Sandra pouted. She was supposed to be his girlfriend, yet aside from what happened in bed, she realized she knew almost nothing about him. Who would ever believe this was a serious relationship?

Noticing the faint frustration in her expression, Arden leaned down and placed a quick, playful kiss on her nose. "Kitten," he murmured with a low chuckle, "all you need to know is who your man is."

Arden didn't want to say too much. Too many girls he'd met before had suddenly turned overly attentive the moment they found out about his family background. He despised the feeling of being treated like a walking ATM.

It wasn't that he craved some kind of pure, idyllic relationship. Everyone was just out here having fun—a willing exchange on both sides, simple and uncomplicated. They were all still students, untouched by the weight of the real world. Why make things utilitarian when they didn't have to be? Enjoying the moment was what mattered most.

He knew that Sandra probably wasn't the type to be vain or scheming. But in this world, even if the girl herself was genuine, her family or circumstances might not be so straightforward. The less she knew about him, the better—for both of them. 

Ignorance meant fewer questions, fewer misunderstandings, and less chance for idle gossip to snowball into something messy. Simplicity was safer, cleaner, and far easier to walk away from when the time came.

Sandra pushed against his chest, trying to wriggle free, but Arden tightened his embrace. "What's the matter, kitten? Thinking about running away again?"

"Come on, we can't stay cooped up in the house forever," Sandra broke free from his arms, tugging at the hem of his oversized T-shirt she'd just slipped on. "I've got to prepare for the art exhibition, and you... well, you should at least pretend to have some responsibilities."

Arden chuckled, his voice low and teasing as he dipped his head to nuzzle her neck. "Responsibilities? Kitten, what could possibly be more important than spending every second of my day like this—with you?"

"Stop it," Sandra protested, swatting at him half-heartedly, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

He loosened his hold slightly but didn't let her go completely, resting his chin on her shoulder. His voice softened, dipping into sincerity. "I'm serious. I could stay like this forever, just soaking in this little world of ours—just you and me."

Sandra glanced down at his lower body, a sly grin curling her lips. "Aren't you afraid that one day an iron bar will be worn down into a needle?" she quipped, arching an eyebrow.

Arden barked a laugh, pulling her closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. His voice low and teasing as he licked her ear. "Kitten, if that ever happens, I'll just have to prove I'm sharp enough to still get the job done."

"Pervert! Rascal!" Sandra laughed, swatting at him playfully. "We'll see how worn out you are one day."

Arden smirked, his eyes glinting with challenge. "That depends—do you have what it takes to wear me out?"

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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