The night before replayed itself in Harold's mind.
After Ronan and his crew had left, Harold stayed on the couch, his head resting against the cushions. He lit a cigarette and sat there for a long while, lost in a fog of smoke and thoughts. He'd never felt this low before.
An hour slipped by before he finally made his way to his bedroom.
Seeing Samantha sprawled across his bed caught him off guard. He had almost forgotten that he had let her in. Her spaghetti strap top revealed smooth shoulders and a hint of cleavage, her lips a striking red against her fair skin. She exuded an effortless allure that most men would find irresistible.
But Harold wasn’t most men. Seeing her sound asleep, he quietly closed the door and opted for the couch in the living room instead. Sleep was a trivial matter to him; it made little difference whether he got any or not.
He spent the rest of the night on the couch.
Samantha, on the other hand, hadn’t slept a wink since entering Harold’s room. She had orchestrated this seductive scene, hoping Harold would walk in and be unable to resist her. If only they’d crossed that line, Harold, with his traditional values and sense of responsibility, surely wouldn’t ignore what happened. But he had walked out!
Fuming and restless, she stayed awake all night.
By morning, she stripped down to her underwear and ventured into the living room. There was Harold, asleep on the sofa without even a blanket. Samantha fetched a quilt from her room and gently draped it over him, which stirred him from his light slumber.
As Harold’s eyes fluttered open, Samantha scurried back to her room, leaving him with the image of her curvaceous figure, scantily clad in just a tank top and panties.
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