Fuck.
I dropped my head into the crook of her neck, letting my nose skim along her throat. Her skin was warm, pulse rapid. I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t dare. But I breathed her in like she was air and I was drowning.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” I muttered.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
I lifted my head, just enough to meet her eyes again. And smiled — slow and dangerous. “Oh, sweetheart,” I said, “you haveno idea.”
She wriggled a bit beneath me, panting in my ear.
I couldn’t help it. I leaned closer, letting my lips ghost along her jaw, not quite touching. And then —somehow— I let her go.
Rolled off her. Tossed her the blanket with a growl of defeat.
She was still flushed. Stillruinedby whatever that moment was, just like I was.
And I was already planning all the ways Iwasn’tgoing to survive her.
CHAPTER 31
Ileft her on the floor of the living room.
Then I braced both hands on the kitchen counter and let my head hang between my shoulders.
“Jesus Christ.”
She was lying on the floor ofmyliving room. Still flushed, still breathless, still holding the blanket like she wanted me more than air.
And I had walked away.
I should’ve kissed her. Ishould’ve kissed her.
I was going to lose my goddamn mind.
My palms pressed harder into the countertop. I was too warm and too wired andso fucking gonefor this girl I’d known all of… what? Two months? Three? Didn’t matter. She had ruined me. Absolutely, irrevocably, embarrassingly ruined.
She’d whispered my name. Purred it, practically. And I’d said —
“‘Keep talking like that, and you’ll find out,’” I muttered aloud, voice hoarse with disbelief. “Great.That’s great, man. What thefuckis wrong with you.”
Because now?
Now, I could still feel the shape of her under me. Could still smell her perfume and shampoo. Could still see her — eyes wide, lips parted, voice a whisper.
Could still see her smile.
God, I was so far gone.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and forced myself upright. Poured a glass of water with a hand that wasn’t steady. Took a sip. Didn’t taste it.
The photo lit up my phone from where it sat on the table. Still my lock screen. Stillher.
Us, curled together like we belonged there. Like she was mine.
“Fucking idiot,” I whispered.
Because she wasn’t mine. She’d said she never wanted to be. She didn’twantmore. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t smart.
