Three.
Heat pours off his stare,
liquifies my lungs.
The room’s spinning.
Two feet?—
and he’s on the edge of ruining me,
coming closer,
and closer.
“Drew, stop.”
It slips out with my hand,
my palm laying flat on his chest—warm, alive.
He freezes, breath heavy,
chest heaving against my fingers,
where I can feel his heart losing it.
So is mine.
We’re both shaking. For different reasons.
I’ve never done this without a wall standing in front of me.
A contract.
Rules.
Chains to lock down my heart.
I don’t have anything to protect myself.
I’m bare. Open. Unarmed.
And freaking the fuck out.
I try to let go of a breath.
It comes out shattered.
So I hold his gaze,
hoping he can hear everything I’m not saying.
As he searches my eyes,
my fears hit him in waves,
each one dawning on his face.
