"Don't." I pull my hands free. "Don't make this into something it's not."
"What if it already is?"
The question lands like a punch.
What if it already is.
What if this matters.
What if he means it.
What if I let myself believe that, and he destroys me worse than Njal and Bjorn combined.
"It's not," I say firmly. "It's just sex."
Something flickers in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or frustration.
But then he's kissing me again, and I stop thinking.
Stop questioning.
Just feel.
His hands slide up my back, finding the clasp of my bra.
He pauses. "Can I?"
The question is so unexpected, so different from every other man who just took what they wanted, that I almost cry.
"Yes," I whisper.
The bra falls away.
Cool air hits my skin, and then his hands are on me, reverent and careful like I'm something that might break.
I'm not something that might break.
I'm already breaking.
He walks me backward until my legs hit the bed and we tumble onto it together—him above me, solid and real and looking at me like I matter.
Like I'm worth keeping.
Don't believe it, my brain screams. Don't fall for this.
But my body doesn't care what my brain thinks.
My body wants his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
Wants to forget, just for a little while, that I'm the girl nobody kept.
He kisses down my neck, my collarbone, then lower.
Takes his time like we have all night.
Like this isn't just a quick fuck before I sneak out and we pretend it never happened.
I reach for his belt again and this time he doesn't stop me.
