His grin sneaks back up,
full of ache he’s trying to suppress.
My fingers white-knuckle the wooden shelf,
a death grip to strangle the silent scream.
Athump, thump, thumprattles in my ribcage.
He notices everything?—
the jump in my chest, the pulse in my throat.
He keeps coming closer.
And closer.
Then he doesn’t need to come closer.
He’s already here.
So close his breath hits my jaw.
“You’re not stopping me,” he rasps,
the final warning scraping out of him.
I shake my head slow.
I don’t want him to stop. Iwantthis.
I want him more than I should.
The evidence is everywhere,
burned into my breath, seared into my skin,
tearing me open so it all spills out?—
it’s fucking impossible to hide.
“You want me to stop you?” I whisper.
His pupils swell black,
drinking me in too deep.
He’s sinking.
“No.”
His voice goes under with the rest of him.
He lifts his arm,
fingers gripping the shelf above my head.
Then he leans closer,
