I look up at her.Her eyes are half-closed, lips swollen from kissing, and she's so fucking gorgeous it hurts.
"Yeah?"My voice comes out rough, wrecked.
"Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it."
I kiss her again, deeper this time, pouring everything I can't say into it.My hands slide under her shirt, feeling warm skin, the curve of her waist.She gasps into my mouth, hips lifting, and?—
And suddenly I'm somewhere else.
Someone else.
Emma's face flashes through my mind, brown hair, brown eyes, that smile that used to make me believe in good things.Emma, who's been gone for three years.Emma, who I haven't let myself think about because thinking about her means remembering how I failed her.
No.
Not now.
I push the thought away and focus on the woman beneath me.Enya.Not Emma.Enya, who's alive and warm and here, who wants this, who chose this.
But the image won't leave.
Won't fucking leave.
Enya's hands are on my shoulders now, pulling me closer, and I lose myself in the sensation.The heat, the pressure, the way she moves beneath me like she knows exactly what she wants.
"Yes," she breathes."God, yes?—"
And I'm gone.Lost in it.Lost in her.
My control shatters.
"Emma," I groan.
The name slips out before I can stop it, raw and broken and wrong.
Everything stops.
Enya goes rigid beneath me.Her hands, which were clutching my shoulders, suddenly push hard against my chest.
"Get off," she says.Voice flat.Cold.
Fuck.
"Wait—"
"Get.Off."
I roll away immediately, heart sinking into my stomach.She sits up, yanking the covers around herself, and even in the dim light I can see the hurt and anger warring on her face.
"Who the fuck is Emma?"she demands.
My throat closes.I can't speak.Can't explain.Can't tell her that Emma was everything and I destroyed her, and I haven't said her name out loud in three years, and I don't know why it came out now, here, with someone who deserves better than my broken shit.
"Get out," Enya says quietly.
"Enya—"
