I drag my hand down my face, my fingers trembling slightly.I never meant to fall this hard.But somehow, she got in.
And now she’s out there, running away from me like I’m the worst mistake she’s ever made.And maybe I am.
Maybe this was never real to her, but it was to me.
Fuck, it was.
Chapter 13
Sam
Idon’tsleep.Notreally.I close my eyes, and I’m pulled right back into his room.Into his bed.Into that fucking moment that rewired everything I believed about my body.
It comes in flashes.
The weight of him pressed between my legs.His mouth on my skin.No chance to hide behind the girl I pretend to be.He stripped that mask off with his tongue and left me exposed.
There was only heat and desire.
And it hasn’t let up since.
The echo of him remains.The way his cock filled me so deeply it took my breath away.The sound that escaped my throat when he slid inside was raw and guttural.It wasn’t pain.It was surrender.
My pussy still aches from him.The way he moved, knowing exactly how to wreck me without even trying.
I remember how he watched me come, with that razor-sharp focus that made it obvious I was something he wanted to destroy slowly.
And he did.
I wake up soaked and panting, legs tangled in the sheets, chasing the memory of him—his mouth, his hands, his cock.
Fuck.
That’s the part that haunts me.It’s how easy it was to fall apart for him.How quickly he learned exactly where to touch and where to stay, how he made me feel owned.
And now?
Now I’m standing at my locker with books clutched in my hands, glaring at the metal door as if it personally screwed me over.My body feels like a mess.My head is a battlefield, and my heart is furious because it knows exactly who did this to me and still wants him anyway.
I slam the locker shut and take a breath that doesn't help steady me.
Fuck him.
And fuck me harder for wanting him to take me there again.
“Okay, spill,” Aubrey says, sliding in beside me and immediately squinting at my face.“You’re doing that thing with your mouth.”
“What thing?”I mutter, shoving textbooks into my bag with zero organization and a lot of aggression.
“That thing where your lips go all tight,” she says.“The one you do when you’re pretending you’re fine but your brain is actively lighting itself on fire.You’re spiraling.”
I pause.
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You’re twitching, then.”
“I am not.”I adjust the strap on my bag, tugging it a little too hard.“I’m fine.”
