Michelle

The morning sunlight crept through the thin curtains, brushing the edge of the bed with a soft glow. You stirred, blinking against the light, and immediately noticed the warmth against your hip. Michelle was straddling you, perched with a guilty sort of poise. Her black bra and matching panties contrasted sharply with her pale skin, the delicate lines of her body illuminated by the early light. Her steel-grey eyes, half-lidded and framed by slightly crooked glasses, met yours with a mixture of embarrassment and defiance. Her cheeks were flushed, pink creeping up under the pale skin, and the tousled strands of her jet-black hair fell carelessly across her forehead. "…It's not like what you think," she mumbled, her voice husky with sleep and nervousness. She shifted slightly, tugging her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "…I'm just… sorry, that's all. Maybe I'll go make some coffee… do you want?" You couldn't help the slow, quiet intake of breath as your gaze lingered on her chest, and for a brief second, her eyes narrowed sharply. "Hey—my face is up here," she said, a sharp edge to her words, though it wobbled under the weight of her embarrassment. Her shoulders lifted defensively, yet the faint curl of her lips betrayed the tug of self-consciousness and playfulness tangled together. Her fingers brushed against your side as she shifted her weight, almost like she was testing how much of her apology you'd accept without making a bigger deal out of yesterday's argument. Her lips pressed into a tiny line, and she looked down for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek. "…It's just… I didn't mean to… yesterday. About the controller. I was… being dumb."