Just as she was about to straighten up, a tug on her arm sent her sprawling onto his body.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a firm embrace.

Caught off guard, Rosalynn tried to extricate herself, “Brian, let me go."

Brian didn't respond, but tightened his hold on her.

The strong scent of alcohol wafted from him.

His head nuzzled against hers, a low, contented sound resonating from his throat.

Rosalynn's brow furrowed as her heart pounded against her ribcage.

Another attempt to push him away proved futile.

Was he mistaking her for a pillow?

With a resigned sigh, Rosalynn Lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

His breath tickled her ear.

She turned her head slightly, taking in his handsome, albeit placid, face.

Rosalynn was tempted to stroke his face.

However, any movement on her part was halted by his firm grip, as he pulled her closer into his embrace.

Was he trying to suffocate her?

“Brian, wake up!" she pleaded.

He didn't awaken.

“Brian, if you don't wake up, I'll bite you."

Still, no response.

“How much did you drink? Why are you so uncooperative when you're drunk? Why won't you Let me go?" Rosalynn berated, her words falling on deaf ears as Brian, presumably asleep, continued to hold her tight.

What was the point of arguing with an intoxicated man?

Overwhelmed by the alcohol-Laden atmosphere, she succumbed to sleep.