"Enzo—"
"Go, Isabella."
"I don't want to."
I grunt, running my hands through my hair. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Yes, I do."
"No." I shake my head even though she probably can't see it in the darkness. "You're scared. You had a panic attack. You're grateful I talked you through it. That's all this is."
She makes a sound in her throat, somewhere between disagreement and frustration.
"So go before?—"
"Before what?"
Before I stop being able to control myself. Before I cross this space and put my hands on you. Before I find out if you taste as good as I've imagined every night for the past four years.
I don't say any of that.
She takes a step closer.
One step. That's all. But now there's barely a foot between us and I can feel the heat coming off her skin, can see the pulse in her throat beating fast and frantic, can see her knuckles white where she's gripping the towel like it's the only thing keeping her together.
"Isabella." Her name comes out like a warning. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what, Enzo… how am I looking at you?”
Like you want me to touch you. Like you're daring me to. Like you know exactly what you're doing and what it's doing to me.
My control is slipping and I can feel it fraying at the edges like a rope pulled too tight. Four years of keeping my distance. Four years of lying to myself. Four years of pretending I don't want her.
All of it unravelling because she won't step away, won't make this easier, won't stop looking at me like I'm the only thing she wants.
"You need to go get dressed."
"Make me."
The challenge in her voice does something to me, snaps something deep in my chest that I've been holding closed.
My hand moves before I can stop it, reaches out and cups the side of her face.
Her skin is warm and soft and still damp from the shower.
She flinches.
The movement is small and instinctive, but I feel it like a punch.
I start to pull away, to take my hand back, to apologize for crossing a line I swore I'd never cross.
But then she does something I don't expect.
She leans into my touch.
