“Been wanting you to touch me for so long.” His voice breaks enough that I feel it in my bones.
“It gets…” I trail off, my voice tinny and awed. “It gets bigger?”
For half a second, I’m sure I’ve ruined everything. I snap my hand away.
Then Tristan laughs. Not sharp. Not mocking. Just wrecked and breathless, like I’ve knocked the air out of him. “You’re going to kill me, Minerva.”
Something warm blooms low in my stomach at the sound of my name on his lips. He leans in, gives me time to pull away. When I don’t, he kisses me.
It starts slow. A question more than a statement. His mouth is warm, soft, patient, letting me set the pace even as his hand settles at my waist, steady and grounding. I melt into it before I can stop myself, my fingers curling in his shirt, my body tilting closer like it’s been waiting for this exact permission.
His tongue brushes mine, unhurried. Intimate. There’s a hint of possessiveness there now, a gentle pressure that makes my knees go weak, and my thoughts scatter.
And then the light shifts.
The glow from inside the condo spills out onto the patio, catching us at just the wrong angle. I see myself reflected faintly in the glass—slight, hunched, hands fisted in his clothes like I don’t know what to do with them.
I pull back.
“I—” My heart starts racing, panic slamming into me so fast it steals my breath. “It’s different now.”
He stills immediately. “Different how?”
“You’re seeing me.” The words tumble over each other. “Like… really seeing me. In the light.”
I fold my arms over my chest instinctively, like I can hide myself by force of will. “I’m not enough. I’m small. I’m awkward. I’m not—” My throat closes around the rest of it, old voices rising up, sharp and cruel, telling me what I am and what I’m not.
Too boyish. Too flat. Too strange.
Too much and not enough at the same time.
The fear spikes, hot and urgent. I can’t let him see me naked. Not like this. Not after everything I’ve been told. Not after Luca, and the way wanting always turned into something ugly and humiliating.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, already standing, already backing away. “I can’t—”
I turn and bolt for the patio door, shame snapping at my heels.
Behind me, I hear him say my name.
And that somehow makes it even harder to stop running.
I make it as far as the bedroom before my knees give out.
Not dramatically. Just… suddenly. Like my body finally remembers it’s been holding itself together with tension, adrenaline, and old habits for years. I brace myself on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, arms still locked across my chest as if I can physically keep the panic contained.
Stupid. Stupid. Normal people don’t do this.
I hear him before I see him. Soft footsteps. A pause at the doorway.
“Min,” Tristan says quietly. “I’m right here.”
I don’t turn around. If I look at him, I’ll fall apart. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it weird.”
“You didn’t,” he says immediately. “You got scared. That’s not weird, that’s honest.”
That’s somehow worse. I nod anyway, forehead pressed to the cool fabric of the bedspread. My breath comes out in short, uneven pulls. I hate that my body betrays me, that I can feel myself shaking and can’t make it stop.
“I don’t want you to regret this,” I say. “But you will.”
