And yet the first thought that slams into me isthis is wrong.
Not morally—God knows I stopped caring about the definition of “wrong” the second I felt his mouth on mine—but wrong because… what if this ruins everything? What if I care more than he does?
Lex is used to hookups. Used to people throwing themselves at him. He’s had girls sneak into his car, his DMs, his bed. He’s had sex in ways I can’t even imagine.
And I’m… what?
A name on a list?
A mistake?
A curiosity?
My chest tightens painfully.
A warm fingertip brushes my cheek.
I jerk slightly, startled out of my spiraling thoughts.
Lex is half-awake now, eyes heavy-lidded, pupils huge. When he smiles, slow and lazy, something dangerous flips inside me.
“What were you thinking about?” he murmurs, voice all gravel and morning heat.
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
He raises a brow—like he knows I’m lying but isn’t ready to call me out on it.
A beat passes.
Then another.
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, thumb stroking absent circles.
“Was it about last night?” Lex asks quietly.
“About what I told you—about me… coming out? Or about what we did after?”
My heart stutters.
I swallow.
“Do you…” I force myself to ask, “regret it?”
Lex doesn’t answer.
Instead, he sits up slowly, shifting to his knees beside me. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me until I’m sitting between his thighs, until my chest is pressed to his, until I can feel his breath against my lips.
He looks at me—really looks.
Like he’s trying to memorize my face.
Then he kisses me.
Not rushed.
Not desperate.
But slow. Certain. Claiming.
