Too much. That’s the problem. I’m starting to enjoy this too much.
My legs feel weak. My heart? Even worse. He rolls off me, touches my arm.
I flinch. “Don’t.”
He nods slowly, jaw tight, but backs off and sits up on the bed.
Even though I know I should be satisfied—used him exactly how I planned, kept my walls up—I feel that tug. That ache.
Because for one second in his arms, I forgot to hate him. I forgot everything. I forgot myself.
I don’t know what scares me more. That I let it happen… or that I want to let it happen again.
Instead, I choose to run. I don’t even bother pulling the sheet with me. My body’s still humming, sore in the best and worst ways. But beneath all of it—under the high, the ache, the heat—is panic.
Cold and sharp. Coiled tight beneath my ribs, a warning bell that won’t stop screaming. One more second here and I’ll unravel completely.
The chorus of a song I never finished flickers in my head—Run before it ruins you. I swallow it back down, burying it deep.
I move fast. Too fast. Jeans. Shirt. Boots. I yank them on, armor against what I can’t unfeel, hoping that covering my skin fast enough will erase what just happened. The feel of his mouth on mine. How my body clung to him without hesitation. The way I almost believed the look in his eyes.
Behind me, Malachi shifts on the bed. The mattress creaks softly beneath his weight, and I can feel his eyes on my back, tracking every frantic movement. The heat of him still clings to my skin, soaked in deep.
“Where are you going?” His voice is rough, but wary. He already knows.
“To breathe,” I snap, grabbing my phone. My fingers tremble as I unlock it. My lungs don’t know how to pull in air that doesn’t carry his imprint.
“Candace—”
“Don’t.” I whirl around, eyes flashing. “Don’t do the thing. The post-sex talk thing. Whatever the hell this is.” My throat burnsfrom holding too much in. I have no idea how to stand still without falling apart.
His jaw tightens. He places his palms on the edge of the bed, poised to come closer. He doesn’t. But I feel the tension in his body, a second heartbeat in the room.
“I’m not trying to trap you. I just want to talk.”
“Exactly why I’m leaving,” I bite, thumbing out a quick text to Ruby.
Candace:Need a ride. Now. Can’t take my car. It’s still fucked. Please, Ruby.
His expression darkens. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You’re really going to run?”
“Better than staying and letting you make it worse.”
“You mean real?” he says quietly. “I didn’t make anything worse. You let me touch you. You wanted that.”
“Don’t—” My voice cracks. I shake my head hard. “Don’t twist this. It was just sex.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
I stare at him. At the lines in his face. The fire barely banked in his eyes. He’s not angry. He’s hurt. That’s worse. Because he’s not supposed to feel anything. He’s not supposed to make me feel anything.
But he does.
The phone buzzes in my hand.
Ruby:Outside.
Good. Fucking. Good.
