I don't answer.
Because the truth is too complicated, too twisted, too fucked up to put into words.
I don't want this. Don't want to want this.
But my body does.
My body remembers and craves and needs in ways that have nothing to do with logic or self-preservation or any of the things that should matter.
"I'm going to touch you now," he says, and it's not a request. "And you're going to let me. Because you need this. Because your body has been craving this since the moment you ran. Because deep down, in a place you won't admit even to yourself, you know you're mine."
"I'm not?—"
"Yes, you are. And tonight, I'm going to prove it to both of us."
His mouth comes down on mine.
I try to pull away. Try to resist. Try to maintain some last shred of defiance.
But his hand is in my hair, holding me in place with firm pressure.
And his kiss is demanding, consuming, overwhelming every thought except the sensation of his lips on mine.
And God help me, my body responds.
My mouth opens under his without permission from my brain.
My hands grip his shoulders for balance instead of pushing him away like they should.
I kiss him back.
Hate myself for it even as I'm doing it.
But I kiss him back anyway because my body doesn't care about should or shouldn't.
It just wants.
When he finally pulls away, we're both breathing hard.
His eyes are dark with desire.
Mine probably mirror his.
"See?" he says, voice rough. "Your body knows who it belongs to even if your mind won't admit it yet."
He stands, lifting me with him like I weigh nothing.
Vaughn carries me to the bed even though I could walk.
He lays me down on sheets that smell like him.
Stands over me, looking down with an intensity that makes my skin heat, my body completely exposed to his gaze.
"Vaughn, please?—"
"Please what? Please stop? Or please continue? Please give you what your body is begging for?"
I don't answer because I don't know which one I mean.
