"Okay," I whisper.
"Okay?"
"Your room. Tonight. I'll—I'll come to you."
Saying it out loud makes it real.
Makes it a promise I can't take back.
He nods once. "No pressure. If you change your mind?—"
"I won't."
"But if you do, that's fine. The door isn't locked. You can leave whenever you want. This only happens if you want it to happen."
Can I, though?
Can I really leave when my body is screaming for what he's offering?
When curiosity is eating me alive?
When I'm already half lost to this thing between us that I don't have a name for?
When three days of wanting have already proven I can't resist?
I don't say any of that.
Just nod and go back to my breakfast, forcing myself to eat even though my stomach is in knots.
But my hands are shaking badly enough that I have to set down my coffee cup before I spill it.
And I can feel his eyes on me.
Watching. Assessing.
Reading every micro-expression, every tremor, every sign of the war happening inside me.
Knowing he's won.
Knowing I'm his now, even if I won't admit it.
Knowing that tonight, he'll have even more of me.
And there's nothing I can do to stop it.
Nothing I even want to do to stop it.
That's the worst part.
The rest of the day drags like time has turned to molasses.
I try to read in the library.
Pick upJane Eyrefrom where I left off days ago, but the words blur together, meaningless black marks on white pages.
I read the same paragraph five times and still can't tell you what it says.
All I can think about is tonight.
