Oh God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Darius ends the call and shoves the phone back in his pocket. His eyes meet mine, and I realize the hunger is still there, smoldering beneath the surface.
“I have to go.” His voice is rough. Strained.
I don’t answer. Can’t. My hands grip my opposite arms so tightly, I know I’ll have bruises. I don’t trust myself to speak. Don’t know what I’d even say.
He stares at me for a long moment, his jaw working like he wants to say something. Like he’s fighting with himself. His hand reaches toward me, then falls. For a heartbeat, I think he might stay. Might finish what we started.
Then, his jaw clenches and he walks out, pulling the door closed behind him with a quiet click.
I stand frozen in place.
Five seconds pass. Ten.
My legs give out. I sink to the floor, my whole body shaking.
What the hell was that?
I should have stopped him. Should have slapped him. Should have done literally anything except kiss him back like my life depended on it.
But I didn’t. I kissed him. I pushed him up against the door. I tore at his clothes. I wanted him with a desperation that still terrifies me.
And that thing inside me, whatever woke up when he touched me—it wanted him, too. Demanded him. Like my body knew something my mind couldn’t comprehend.
I cover my face with both hands, pressing my palms against my eyes until I see stars.
This is bad. This is so, so bad.
We crossed a line that can never be uncrossed. There is no going back from this. No pretending it didn’t happen. No erasing the feeling of his mouth on mine, his hands on my body, the sound of his groan when I touched him. No ignoring the desperate, animalistic need that consumed me completely.
I stay huddled on the floor for I don’t know how long. Finally, I force myself to stand. My legs are still shaky, but they hold.
The apartment is too quiet. The silence presses against my eardrums, making everything feel surreal. Like I’m floating outside my own body, watching this happen to someone else.
My eyes land on the present still sitting on my counter. Darius’s housewarming gift.
I should leave it. Throw it away unopened. I should want nothing from him after what just happened.
But curiosity wins out.
My fingers tremble as I tear at the wrapping paper. It falls away in pieces, revealing a plain, cardboard box.
I open it. And stare.
A thin, soft, leather leash, emerald green. Stainless steel bowls with paw prints etched into the sides. A plush dog bed in cream and navy that matches my couch. Squeaky toys, rope toys, a little stuffed duck. Treats in a sealed bag. A collar with a tag that says “Best Friend” in elegant script.
Everything you’d need for a dog.
My hands shake as I dig deeper. There has to be more. An explanation.
My fingers find an envelope tucked beneath the dog bed. I pull it out and tear it open with clumsy fingers.
A note, written in bold, masculine handwriting:
Your new friend is waiting for you at Riverside Veterinary Clinic. She’s ready to come home tomorrow morning. Dr. Mitchell is expecting you at 9 a.m.
