The sensation reminds me of yesterday. Of Luan's bathroom. Steam filling the air, making everything soft and hazy. Heat radiating off his skin. His hands on my waist, lifting me onto the counter like I weigh nothing. The way he stepped between my legs, the towel barely covering him, his body so close I could feel the heat of him.
The blade in my hand. The trust in his stillness. The intimacy of touching his face, of being that close, of hearing his breathing change.
And then his hands on my hips. Pulling me forward. His erection pressing against me, hard and insistent and impossible to ignore. The low growl in his voice when he told me to finish cleaning him up.
Be a good girl.
I liked it.
More than liked it.
The memory alone makes my body react. Heat pooling low. Pulse quickening. A want I don't know how to manage.
I must be insane. Stepping into this situation. Moving in. Agreeing to pretend to be engaged to Luan while attracted to all three of them.
I'm twenty-five. Not a virgin. But not experienced either. One boyfriend. Sweet and uncomplicated. More friendship than romance. We dated for six months. Had sex a handful of times. It was fine. Pleasant. Forgettable.
I've never felt this before. This pull. This magnetism that makes my skin feel too tight and my thoughts scatter. Not for one person, let alone three.
There's something about them. Something heavy. Dark. I can sense it even if I can't name it, even if I don't have the language or experience to articulate what I'm picking up on.
It's in the way they move. The way they speak. The careful way they phrase things, like they're used to words having consequences. The tension that follows them into rooms, the way silence feels different when they're present.
Probably just wealth and power. The kind of money and influence I'm not used to being close to. People who move through the world with certainty, who don't apologize for taking up space, who assume doors will open because they always have.
I agreed to something beyond my depth. That much is clear.
But it was also a lifeline.
A roof over my head until I figure out what's next. Money to help Henry. To make sure the baby has everything needed when it arrives.
And, I admit with a twist of shame that makes my stomach turn, protection.
From Henry.
The thought makes nausea rise in my throat.
He didn't mean to push me. I know he didn't. I have to believe that. He was angry. Frustrated. Overwhelmed by the weight of his choices and the consequences catching up to him. He lost control for a second. Just a second.
It was an accident.
But he scared me.
That's the part I can't reconcile. The part that sits heavy and uncomfortable in my chest.
And his messages since then have shifted. Gone from apologies to concern to demands to something darker.
I sit up slowly. The covers fall away, cool air touching my skin. I reach for my phone on the nightstand. The screen lights up at my touch, bright in the dim room.
I need to tell him. That the house is his. That he can move in with his girlfriend. That I've kept my promise.
I open the messages. Scroll through the thread.
I'm sorry. Can we talk?
Right after it happened. When the cut on my forehead was still fresh and I was trying to convince myself it was an accident.
Don't leave me on read. Answer me!
