Bodyguard (YN x Beyonce)

Part Nine

I woke up to the soft hum of silence. The kind of silence you only find in places built to keep the rest of the world out.

The sheets were like butter... some kind of Egyptian cotton, maybe, or whatever the rich folks use that feels like your skin is being hugged by clouds. The mattress practically cradled me, refusing to let me go. For a moment, I didn't even want to move. I just laid there, trying to figure out where I was, my face half-buried in a pillow that smelled faintly of vanilla and something warmer underneath... something familiar.

Then it hit me.

This wasn't my bed.

This wasn't my room.

I blinked, sitting up slow, heart kicking up in my chest as I took it all in.

Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the soft morning light through sheer curtains, casting a golden haze over the room. The furniture was sleek, modern but warm. A low marble fireplace in the corner. Art on the walls... the kind that looked expensive even though I couldn't name a single artist. Everything was immaculate, styled with intention... feminine, powerful, soft.

It was hers.

Beyoncé's.

And I was in her bed.

Memories of last night came rushing back like a tidal wave. Her mouth. Her hands. Her voice — low, teasing, commanding. The way she looked at me in the back of that car like she already knew what she was about to do and how wrecked I'd be after.

And God... I was wrecked.

But in the best way.

I pulled the covers closer to me and looked around, half expecting her to be sitting in a chair across the room, watching me. That was the kind of woman she was... a little dramatic, always composed, always three steps ahead.

But she wasn't there.

Her side of the bed was empty. Still warm, but empty.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, taking in the quiet, trying to figure out if I should stay or go. My clothes were folded on a velvet bench at the foot of the bed. Not thrown. Folded. Thoughtful.

Damn, I thought, fingers brushing my lips as I remembered the way she kissed me. Like she meant every second of it. Like she'd been waiting for it just as long as I had.

Was that just heat? Or something else?

I didn't know.

But what I did know was I wasn't the same person I was yesterday. Not after last night. Not after her.

I finally pulled myself out of that dangerously comfortable bed, standing barefoot on some rug that probably cost more than my whole apartment. I was still trying to wrap my head around everything — the night before, this room, her.... when I heard the soft click of a door opening behind me.

I turned around and there she was.

Beyoncé.

Hair pulled up in a loose bun, skin glowing like she woke up dipped in sunlight, wearing a silk robe the color of champagne that clung to her just right. She had a glass of green juice in one hand and a warm, satisfied glow on her face like she was still high off last night.

Her eyes landed on me, and her smile stretched slow and real.

"Good morning, baby," she said, voice still raspy with sleep, like it hadn't fully settled yet.

Then she leaned in and kissed me.

Soft. Sweet. Familiar.

Like it wasn't the first time. Like she'd done it a hundred mornings before.