First Step in the new World

James stirred awake as the soft light of dawn filtered through the wooden shutters. The room was quiet, save for the faint chirping of birds outside. He blinked, feeling the warmth of something—no, someone—pressed tightly against him.

A tickling sensation teased his face, and as his vision sharpened, he realized it was strands of hair. Ofelia's hair.

She was lying entirely on top of him, her head nestled against his shoulder, her arms wrapped securely around his torso in a gentle but firm embrace. Her legs were between his, her knees tucked slightly beneath his thighs, locking her comfortably in place.

For a brief moment, James froze, unsure how to react. The weight of her body, the softness of her breath against his neck—it all sent his mind racing. But then, he became acutely aware of something else.

Not again, James thought with a mix of disbelief and resignation.

This wasn't the first time she'd ended up so close. The morning before, she'd clung to him in her sleep, and James had waited a few minutes before moving to avoid startling her. But this morning was worse.

His morning wood.

James's heart skipped a beat as he realized his predicament. The tent in his pyjama pants was impossible to ignore, made worse by its position—caught snugly between Ofelia's thighs. The pressure was gentle but undeniably there, and James could feel his face heating by the second.

Why does this keep happening?!

He shifted slightly, trying to adjust without waking her, but the movement only made things worse. Ofelia responded by murmuring softly in her sleep, tightening her grip around his torso as if anchoring herself to him. Her legs pressed together unconsciously, trapping him even further.

James groaned internally. He couldn't exactly blame her—it wasn't like she had any idea what was happening. Still, that didn't help his current predicament.

Stay calm. Just stay calm.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his body to relax, but his treacherous mind kept focusing on how warm she was, how soft her presence felt against him. It wasn't helping. Not at all.

Okay, think, James. You can fix this. Just… don't move. Don't wake her up. Don't make it weird.

Her steady breathing brushed against his collarbone, and he forced himself to focus on that—on the calm rhythm of her sleep. Slowly, his breathing matched hers, steadying his nerves as he tried to ignore the very real, very awkward situation he was trapped in.

Just wait it out. She'll wake up eventually, and this will sort itself out… right?

But then, Ofelia shifted in her sleep, her legs squeezing slightly against him. James's entire body stiffened as his thoughts spiraled into sheer panic. Oh gods, this is worse. This is so much worse.

The minutes dragged on, each one an eternity as James lay perfectly still, trapped by both her unconscious embrace and his unfortunate physiology.

------

Ofelia stirred slowly, the soft warmth of the bed wrapping around her like a cocoon. Her breathing was steady, her body reluctant to leave the comfort of sleep. Everything felt so calm, so peaceful. Her cheek pressed against something firm, yet warm and reassuring, and beneath her, she could hear the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart.

How comforting… she thought hazily, her mind still caught between dreams and wakefulness. The sound of the heartbeat lulled her, its gentle rhythm soothing her nerves in a way she hadn't experienced in years.

The air smelled faintly of him—clean, earthy, with a hint of something warm she couldn't quite place. It was a scent she had come to associate with safety. With James. She felt so at ease that a small, unbidden smile almost tugged at her lips.

Her arms tightened slightly, pulling her closer to the source of the warmth. Her legs shifted against his, nestled securely between his own. Everything about the moment made her feel… secure.

Then a realization crept into her sleepy mind.

Wait… James?

Her eyes fluttered open fully, her breath catching. Her hazy thoughts sharpened as the comforting sensations gave way to alarm. Her arms were wrapped tightly around him. Her legs—her legs!—were tangled between his. Her head rested against his shoulder, her entire body pressed firmly against his chest.

Her heart began to race. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Ofelia froze, listening intently for any sign of movement from James. His breathing sounded steady and calm. He's still asleep, she thought with a pang of relief. But it didn't stop the panic bubbling in her chest.

I need to move. Now. Slowly… quietly. Before he wakes up.

She began to shift, her movements excruciatingly careful. Sliding her arms back from his torso, she felt his steady warmth leave her grasp. She hesitated for a moment, holding her breath, before shifting her weight to sit up.

But as she leaned back, something firm brushed against her nether regions.

She froze.

Her brows furrowed slightly as her half-awake mind tried to understand what she had felt. Was that the blanket? No… it's too warm. Too… solid.

She shifted slightly again, and the sensation repeated itself, this time more noticeable. The firmness pressed unmistakably against her lower parts. She blinked, her confusion deepening.

Her heart skipped a beat. What… is that?

Cautiously, she glanced down.

Her entire body stiffened as she realized what it was. James's arousal, straining against the fabric of his pyjama pants, was caught snugly between her thighs.

Her breath hitched, and her cheeks flushed a deep red, the heat spreading rapidly across her face and neck. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound escaped. She was too shocked, too mortified to even form a coherent thought.

No… no, this can't be real…

Her gaze slowly lifted from the offending sight to James's face. Her stomach flipped as she found his wide, panicked eyes already staring at her.

He was awake.

His face was as red as hers, his expression a mix of alarm and embarrassment. He looked like he was about to say something, but his mouth remained tightly shut, his jaw clenched.

They both froze, neither moving, neither speaking, locked in a moment of mutual horror. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, now uneven and strained.

Ofelia's mind raced, her thoughts tangling as she tried to process the situation. What do I do? What do I say? Why didn't I wake up earlier?

James, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to disappear into the mattress. His hands remained stiff at his sides, his entire body frozen as he stared back at her, his lips pressing into a thin line as if willing himself not to speak. What do I do? What do I say?

The tension was unbearable, the silence stretching endlessly between them.

The silence stretched unbearably as they stared at each other, both frozen in mutual mortification. Ofelia's cheeks burned as her mind raced to make sense of the situation. Her heart hammered in her chest, and the heat of embarrassment surged through her.

"I-I mean," James stammered, his voice cracking slightly, "it's just… it's a normal thing! It just happens in the morning!" His words rushed out in a panicked explanation, each one more awkward than the last.

Ofelia blinked, her gaze dropping for a moment as she processed what he'd said. A normal thing? She couldn't stop the blush from spreading further across her cheeks, but there was something else there too—something she hadn't expected.

Disappointment.

The thought brought a strange pang to her chest, a flicker of disappointment she didn't fully understand. She felt her stomach twist, the feeling unwelcome and confusing. Why would I even care if it was?

James, oblivious to her inner turmoil, continued to dig himself deeper. "It's not because of… you or anything," he blurted, his face impossibly red. "It's just… a thing. A stupid thing my body does."

Her lips parted slightly, the faint ache in her chest growing. She looked up at him, her wide eyes meeting his flustered gaze. Not because of me, the words echoed again in her mind, and she felt an unbidden wave of self-consciousness wash over her.

Ofelia quickly pushed the thought aside, ashamed of the strange, conflicted feelings creeping into her chest. It's better this way, she told herself. It's better that it's not because of me.

"I-I didn't mean to…" she whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to focus on what really mattered—getting past this mortifying moment. "I didn't realize I was… that close."

James let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck as if that would somehow diffuse the tension. "Yeah, well… it's not like you meant to do anything. You were just… sleeping." He shifted uncomfortably, his words still awkward, but his tone was gentler now.

"Right. Sleeping," she echoed, nodding quickly, her hands gripping the hem of her shirt. "I was just sleeping." Her voice was softer than she intended, the strange mix of emotions still lingering at the edge of her thoughts.

The silence returned, heavy and suffocating. James finally broke it with a forced chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well… maybe we should, uh… start the day?"

Ofelia nodded quickly, practically leaping off the bed in her haste to put distance between them. She kept her back to him, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted her pyjama. The faint disappointment from earlier still tugged at her heart, confusing and unwelcome, but she tried to shoved it aside.

James swung his legs off the bed, standing and grabbing a set of clothes. "I'll, uh… get dressed," he mumbled, his tone still awkward as he moved to the other side of the room.

"Of course," Ofelia murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She clasped her hands in front of her, staring at the floorboards as her mind whirled. She stood stiffly near the edge of the room, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. She kept her head lowered, as she always did, but inside, her mind was swirling.

"It's not because of you."

The words echoed over and over, each repetition twisting her chest tighter. Disappointment prickled at the edges of her thoughts, tangled with something else—something sharper. If it's not me, then why did you have to say it like that?

She felt her cheeks heat again at the memory of his panicked explanation. His flustered tone had been genuine, she was sure of that, but it still left her with a bitter taste. Was it wrong that a part of her wished it had been her? That she could cause some reaction in him that wasn't just about circumstance?

Pathetic, she scolded herself. Why do you even care?

But the irritation lingered, and her hands tightened briefly at her sides before she forced herself to relax. Fine. Let's see if it's really not me.

Her face remained neutral, her expression unreadable as she turned slightly toward the window. The glass reflected the room clearly without letting anything show from outside, giving her a discreet way to watch without drawing attention. James was across the room, fumbling with his shirt. His back was to her, his movements hurried, as if he couldn't escape the awkwardness fast enough.

Ofelia lowered her gaze, her outward demeanor still reserved, still quiet. But her heart raced as she began to move. Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the hem of her tunic, her motions calm and unhurried, as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

Her hands lifted the fabric over her waist, revealing the smooth line of her back. She kept her head tilted just enough to catch James's reflection.

He froze.

His shirt was halfway over his arm, his entire body stiffening as his gaze darted to the glass. Ofelia's heart skipped at the sight of his wide-eyed reaction. He stared for a moment before quickly turning away, his hand fumbling with his shirt as his face flushed red.

So much for it not being me, she thought, suppressing a flicker of triumph.

She let the tunic slip further, exposing her shoulders. Her movements were natural, precise, as though she were simply following routine. Outwardly, she was calm, but her thoughts were sharper. Will you keep looking, Master James? Or will you pretend this doesn't bother you?

In the reflection, she saw him glance again, his gaze flickering over her for the briefest second before he snapped his attention back to his own clothes. He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck as if he could will away the tension.

"Uh… Ofelia," he started awkwardly, his voice tight, "you could've… waited until I stepped out."

She hesitated, just enough to seem unsure, before replying softly, "I didn't think it would matter, Master James." Her tone was quiet, deferential, but deliberately vague. She resumed dressing, pulling on her fresh tunic with careful precision.

James let out a strained laugh, his movements hurried as he tugged his shirt into place. "It's just… I thought you'd want privacy."

Ofelia paused briefly, her hands smoothing the fabric of her tunic. She kept her back to him, her voice low but steady. "I don't need privacy, Master James. After all, I'm just your slave."

The words were spoken softly, without edge, but they hung in the air like a weight. She didn't need to see his face to know he was caught off guard.

"I—" he started, then stopped, clearly unsure how to respond. "That's not… I didn't mean it like that."

Ofelia remained silent, her hands steady as she tied the sash of her tunic. She glanced at the reflection one last time, catching the faint flush still lingering on his cheeks.

Not because of me, she thought again, the words both bitter and oddly satisfying now.

"Let's just… start the day," James mumbled, his tone resigned.

"Yes, Master James," Ofelia replied softly, her head bowing slightly as she stepped aside to let him pass. Her voice and posture betrayed none of the storm of thoughts in her mind, nor the faint satisfaction warming her chest.

Outwardly, she was the same as ever—reserved, obedient, careful. But inside, she allowed herself a small, private victory.

------

James busied himself with his shirt, his fingers fumbling with the fabric more than usual. The morning had already been far too awkward, and all he wanted now was to move on, to pretend none of it had happened.

"It's not because of you."

He winced internally, replaying the words he had blurted out just moments ago. Smooth, James. Real smooth. That's exactly what someone who's totally unaffected would say.

He groaned inwardly. It wasn't as if he was lying—he hadn't been thinking about her that way—but the way she had looked at him after he said it… It was like he had said something wrong.

Was she… upset? No, couldn't be. Why would she care?

He sighed, shaking the thought away. Ofelia barely spoke most of the time, and her reactions were so reserved that he never really knew what was going on in her head. But he had caught the faintest flicker of something in her eyes when he said it.

Discontent ? No, that doesn't make sense.

He glanced over at her, half-expecting her to still be frozen by the awkwardness. Instead, she stood with her back to him, her posture straight and calm. Her hands were at her sides, her head slightly bowed, the picture of quiet obedience.

Right. Just another reminder that she's my… The word slave stuck in his throat. He hated it, hated thinking of her that way. She wasn't a possession—at least, not to him.

He turned back to his shirt, pulling it over his head. Let's just get through the day. Focus on the important stuff—like not dying of embarrassment.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement.

She was pulling off her tunic.

James froze mid-motion, his arms halfway through the sleeves of his shirt. His breath caught as his gaze landed on the reflection in the glass of the window. Ofelia's back was to him, her pale skin illuminated by the soft morning light spilling into the room.

The tunic slipped slowly from her shoulders, the deliberate pace of her movements making his chest tighten. Through the faint reflection, he caught a glimpse of her curves—her bare back tapering down to her waist, the soft outline of her chest visible as the tunic fell lower.

What the— His thoughts slammed to a halt.

His face turned an alarming shade of red as his gaze darted away, his mind racing. Why is she—no, she's just changing. It's not a big deal. She doesn't even realize…

Her stance, subtle as it was, emphasized her figure. Without the tunic, her back arched ever so slightly, her hips shifting in a way that made her posterior more prominent. The way she stood—calm, poised, entirely unhurried—only made it harder for him to look away.

But as he turned his back to give her privacy, his thoughts betrayed him. The slow, deliberate way she moved, the precise care in her actions—it didn't feel accidental.

No. Don't even think about it. Just focus on something else. Anything else.

But his treacherous eyes flicked back to the reflection. For just a second. Just long enough to confirm his suspicion: she was moving deliberately.

Oh gods. She knows. Don't stare. Don't stare. Gods, why are you still staring?!

His heart raced, his hands twitching nervously as he hurried to finish dressing. He tugged his shirt into place, willing himself to stop looking.

"Uh… Ofelia," he said, his voice strained and awkward, "you could've… waited until I stepped out."

Her hands didn't falter as she folded the tunic neatly before reaching for her trousers. "I didn't think it would matter, Master James," she replied softly, her tone calm and deferential.

James's heart skipped a beat at her words. His gaze darted back to the reflection, unable to stop himself. The way she untied the waistband of her trousers, the way the fabric slid down her hips—it all felt too precise, too deliberate to be accidental.

The curves of her body were clear in the faint reflection, the gentle slope of her back leading to the soft outline of her bare legs. She bent slightly as she stepped out of the trousers, her posture somehow both natural and maddeningly distracting.

James tore his gaze away again, his thoughts spinning wildly. She's doing this on purpose. She has to be doing this on purpose.

"It's just… I thought you'd want privacy," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he scrambled for something to say—anything to escape the suffocating awkwardness.

She paused, her hands smoothing the fresh tunic she had just slipped on. She kept her back to him, her voice steady and quiet. "I don't need privacy, Master James. After all, I'm just your slave."

The words hit him like a hammer. Her tone was soft, without a hint of accusation, but the weight of the statement left him reeling.

"I—" he stammered, but the words caught in his throat. What was he supposed to say to that? That she wasn't just a slave to him? That he didn't see her that way?

He swallowed the words. Saying them out loud felt… wrong, like they'd only make things worse.

Instead, he glanced at her reflection again, catching the faintest flicker of something in her expression. Was it satisfaction?

Wait a second… is she doing this on purpose?

The thought hit him like a bolt of lightning. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but there was a precision to her movements, a deliberate rhythm to the way she adjusted her clothing.

She knows exactly what she's doing, he realized, his face burning even hotter.

James's face burned hotter as he turned away, his thoughts spinning wildly. Is this… payback? For earlier? Oh gods, she's toying with me, isn't she?

He groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. She's going to be the death of me.

Finally, she finished dressing and turned slightly toward him, her expression neutral and subdued as always.

The room was silent for what felt like an eternity before James finally muttered, "Let's just… start the day."

"Yes, Master James," she replied softly, her tone as obedient and composed as ever.

But as he glanced at her one last time—through the corner of his eye, through the faint reflection in the window—he swore he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips.

She knows.