Something pinned my arms down.
That was the first thought that penetrated the fog of sleep. Not pain, not discomfort, just the simple awareness that I couldn't move them. I tried to shift position, the automatic response of someone waking up, but my body refused to cooperate.
Weight pressed against both sides of my torso. Warmth radiated from two distinct sources, one on each flank.
What the hell?
My eyelids felt like they'd been glued shut. I forced them open anyway, blinking against the morning light filtering through the curtains. The ceiling came into focus first, unfamiliar and expensive looking. Right. Hong Kong. Hotel suite.
I turned my head left.
Christine's face was inches from mine, her breathing slow and steady. She'd draped herself across my arm like it was her personal body pillow, one leg thrown over mine, completely at ease in sleep.
Okay. That explained one side.
I turned right.
Emma Sullivan was plastered against me.
Not just close. Not just touching. Plastered. Her entire front pressed against my side, her head nestled in the crook of my shoulder, one arm thrown across my chest. The silk nightgown had ridden up slightly during the night, exposing more of her pale thighs than I wanted to acknowledge this early in the morning.
And her breasts.
Oh god, her breasts.
They compressed against my ribs like two impossibly soft pillows, the thin silk doing absolutely nothing to hide their shape or weight. I could feel every contour, every curve, the way they yielded and molded to my side. The fabric had shifted during the night, pulling taut across her chest in a way that left the outline of everything visible if I so much as glanced down.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
This was a nightmare. Had to be. Some kind of fever dream brought on by jet lag or contaminated airplane food. Any second now I'd wake up for real, alone in my bed back in San Jose, and this whole mortifying situation would evaporate like morning mist.
I opened my eyes again.
Nope. Still there. Both of them. Still using me as their personal mattress.
The storm. Right. The thunder and lightning last night. Christine had jumped into bed with practiced ease, then Emma had followed because my sister wouldn't let her escape. But Emma had stayed on her side of the bed. I distinctly remembered the massive gap she'd maintained, like she was afraid touching me would give her a disease.
I looked at the empty space on Emma's side of the mattress. Easily two feet of unused bed stretched beyond her back. She'd migrated across the entire expanse of king-sized luxury to end up pressed against me like a heat-seeking missile.
Her breath tickled my neck with each exhale. The scent of whatever shampoo she used filled my nose, something floral and expensive that probably cost more than my entire bathroom cabinet back home.
I needed to move. To extract myself from this situation before either of them woke up and we all died of mutual embarrassment. But my arms were trapped beneath their heads, and any attempt to shift would definitely wake them.
Wait.
I frowned, a new thought cutting through the panic. Why weren't my arms tingling? After however many hours of having two heads resting on them, cutting off circulation, they should feel like dead weight. And the body heat from both girls, pressed this close in a shared bed, should have me sweating like I'd run a marathon.
But I felt fine. Comfortable, even. Temperature wise, at least. The mortification was a separate issue.
Body Tempering. The realization hit like cold water. Second layer had made my skin resistant to temperature extremes. Third layer had enhanced my muscle strength to the point where the weight of two teenage girls using my arms as pillows wouldn't compress the blood vessels enough to matter.
Cultivation had literally saved me from the indignity of trying to shake feeling back into numb limbs while two girls watched.
Small mercies.
Emma shifted slightly, making a small sound in her sleep. Her arm tightened across my chest, pulling herself even closer. The movement caused her nightgown to slip further, and I discovered that the neckline was far lower than I'd realized. The valley between her breasts became clearly visible, pale skin disappearing into shadow.
I stared at the ceiling with the intensity of someone trying to bore holes through solid matter with their eyes alone.
This was fine. Everything was fine. I was a cultivator at Meridian Opening second layer. I'd faced down the responsibility of opening a portal to another world. I'd built cities from nothing. I'd distributed divine power to thousands of people.
Surely I could handle waking up with two girls in my bed without having a complete mental breakdown.
Christine mumbled something unintelligible and burrowed deeper into my side. Her hair tickled my jaw. At least with her it was familiar territory. We'd shared a bed plenty of times when we were younger, during family trips or when she'd had nightmares. This was just an older version of something that used to be normal.
Emma, though. Emma was decidedly not my sister. Emma was a celebrity who'd trusted me enough to hire me as her bodyguard, who'd given me her contact information despite her strict policy against that sort of thing. Emma was currently using my shoulder as a pillow while wearing what amounted to lingerie, her ridiculous proportions on full display.
The nightgown clung to her like a second skin, the silk so fine I could see the faint outline of her ribs when she breathed in. The fabric gathered beneath her breasts, creating a line of tension that drew the eye no matter how hard I tried to look away. They were easily DD cups, maybe larger, absurdly oversized for her petite five foot two frame. The weight of them pressed against my side felt substantial, impossible to ignore.
Her face in sleep looked peaceful, almost innocent. Long lashes rested against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted. The blush that seemed to permanently occupy her face when she was awake had faded, leaving her skin porcelain smooth.
She was beautiful. Objectively, undeniably beautiful in a way that probably launched a thousand fan sites and inspired countless teenage crushes.
And she was currently draped across me like I was her favorite teddy bear.
The morning light grew stronger, painting the room in shades of gold. Outside, Hong Kong was probably already bustling with activity, millions of people going about their day without a care in the world. None of them trapped in bed with a celebrity and their scheming younger sister.
Emma made another small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a murmur. Her fingers curled against my chest, gripping the fabric of my shirt. She shifted again, this time rolling slightly toward me rather than away.
The movement caused her breasts to compress even more firmly against my side. I felt the exact moment when the silk pulled tight enough that I could make out every detail through the thin material.
Ceiling. Focus on the ceiling. The ceiling was safe. The ceiling was neutral. The ceiling wouldn't give me a heart attack before I turned twenty four.
How long until they woke up? How long could I reasonably lie here pretending to still be asleep? What was the protocol for this situation? Was there a protocol? Did etiquette guides cover "what to do when you wake up with your sister and a famous musician in your bed"?
Probably not.
Christine stirred, her breathing pattern changing. My heart rate kicked up. If she woke first, maybe I could convince her to help extract us from this without waking Emma. Sister solidarity had to count for something, right?
Who was I kidding? Christine had probably orchestrated this entire scenario. The storm excuse, the running into my room, the insistence that Emma join us in the bed. My little sister had been playing matchmaker since the concert, and she had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
Emma's arm tightened around my chest again. In her sleep, she'd managed to hook one leg over mine, tangling us together even more thoroughly. The nightgown rode up with the movement, exposing most of her thigh.
I was definitely going to die.
The silk fabric stretched across her body caught the morning light, creating a translucent effect that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. I could see the curve of her waist, the dip of her navel, the swell of her hips. The way the material gathered between her breasts created shadows that drew the eye like a compass to magnetic north.
She was soft everywhere. Not just her chest, though that was impossible to ignore. Her whole body had a yielding quality to it, like she was made of something more forgiving than normal human flesh.
She felt like she might melt into me if she pressed any closer.
Christine's eyes fluttered open. She blinked slowly, focusing on my face with the gradual awareness of someone surfacing from deep sleep.
Then she looked past me to where Emma was plastered against my other side.
A grin spread across her face that could only be described as diabolical.
"Good morning, Ben," she whispered, her voice thick with barely suppressed laughter. "Sleep well?"
I was absolutely going to die.
I said nothing. Did nothing. What could I possibly say that wouldn't make this infinitely worse?
Christine's grin widened as she watched Emma sleep, clearly enjoying my discomfort with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just won the lottery.
Emma's breathing changed. The slow, steady rhythm shifted to something quicker, more aware. Her fingers twitched against my chest. Her eyelashes fluttered.
She was waking up.
Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, taking in the unfamiliar ceiling. Then her gaze drifted downward, landing on her arm stretched across my torso. Her leg hooked over mine. The way she'd molded herself against my side like we'd been sleeping together for years.
I watched the exact moment awareness hit. Her eyes went wide, her face flooding with color that started at her cheeks and spread down her neck, disappearing beneath the low neckline of her nightgown.
She lifted her head slightly, meeting my eyes. Her lips parted like she was about to say something, an apology maybe, or an excuse. Then her gaze flicked past me to where Christine lay watching with barely contained glee.
Emma's expression smoothed out so fast it was like watching someone pull on a mask. The embarrassment didn't disappear, exactly, but it got buried beneath layers of practiced composure. Her face settled into something calm and collected, almost serene.
"Good morning." Her voice came out steady, betraying nothing of the panic I'd seen in her eyes seconds earlier.
She coughed delicately, the kind of polite sound someone makes when they need to fill awkward silence. Then she began extracting herself with careful, deliberate movements. Her arm slid off my chest. Her leg untangled from mine. She rolled away with the grace of someone who'd spent years learning how to move on camera.
That's when I noticed the blanket.
Or rather, the complete absence of it.
I glanced down the length of the bed. The comforter had somehow migrated to the foot of the mattress, bunched up like a discarded afterthought. We'd been lying there completely exposed, nothing covering us except our own clothes.
Emma stood beside the bed, smoothing down her nightgown with hands that only trembled slightly. The fabric fell back into place, covering what it was supposed to cover, though it still left her legs exposed from mid-thigh down.
"We should get ready," she said, her voice still impressively level. "Big day ahead."
Christine bounced up with the energy of someone who'd just witnessed the most entertaining thing in her life. "Shopping! We need to go shopping. We're in Hong Kong, and the concert isn't until tomorrow. It would be a waste to just sit around the hotel all day."
"Shopping sounds perfect." Emma's smile looked almost natural. Almost. The blush still coloring her cheeks ruined the effect slightly.
Christine grabbed Emma's hand, tugging her toward the door. "Come on, we need to plan our route. There's this amazing market district I read about online, and we absolutely have to check out the street food."
Emma let herself be pulled along, throwing one last glance over her shoulder at me. The composed mask slipped for just a second, revealing an adorably flustered expression.
Then they were gone, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving me alone in the suddenly too-quiet room.
I stared at the ceiling again.
Christine's voice drifted through the door, already making plans with Emma about which shops to visit first.
Shopping. Right. Because that was exactly what I needed after this morning.
At least I'd be vertical.
I dragged myself out of bed, every muscle protesting despite my enhanced physique. The shower helped. Cold water shocked the lingering embarrassment from my system, replacing it with something closer to resignation.
This was my life now. Bodyguard to a celebrity who apparently liked to cuddle in her sleep. Brother to a matchmaking menace who thought subtlety was a foreign concept.
I pulled on jeans and a clean shirt, running fingers through damp hair.
Shopping. I could handle shopping.
Probably.