I stop.
Right there.
Because if I don’t, I’m going to break every promise I’ve ever made to myself.
I press my forehead to hers, both of us panting, her lips red, her eyes glazed, her breath coming fast against my skin like she wants me to ruin her.
I close my eyes.
Pull back.
Step away like it kills me—because it fucking does.
“You don’t know what door you’re opening, Cassandra.”
She just stares at me.
Ruined. Flushed. Breathless.
And still—wanting.
“You kissed me back,” she whispers.
I drag a hand through my hair, pacing once like I can burn the need out of my system.
“I know.”
“And you stopped.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
I don’t answer.
Not because I don’t have one.
Because I have too many.
She steps toward me, slow, like I’m some wounded thing. “Did I do something wrong?”
I snap my gaze to hers.
Wrong?
I cross the space in two strides and cage her against the mirror again—no kiss this time. Just heat. Just truth.
“You’re the first thing that’s felt right in a long fucking time, butterfly. But I’ll only ever feel wrong for you.”
And then—I step back.
Because if I stay any longer, I’m going to fucking ruin her.
And I want her too much to do that.
Not yet.
Not now.
