Claiming it. Claiming me.
My skin prickled.
My breathing faltered.
My thighs tightened instinctively, betraying me in the smallest, most humiliating way.
I clenched my jaw harder, forcing myself to keep walking, to ignore the way my body responded to him even when my mind screamed otherwise.
Why?
Why him?
Why did my body still remember?
Why did it still react to the way he had held me that first night—careful, controlled, like I might break if he moved too fast?
Why did it still linger on the rare moments when his voice softened?
When his hand brushed my cheek without force?
When he looked at me like I wasn’t entirely something he wanted to destroy?
I hated that part the most.
Because those moments made everything else worse.
They made it harder to hate him completely.
I reached the Hilux and pulled the passenger door open, slipping inside before I could think too much about anything.
The leather seat was cool against my skin, grounding in a way I didn’t expect.
I sat upright immediately, staring straight ahead, forcing my body to still.
For control.
For distance.
For anything that would keep me from thinking about the fact that he was still right behind me.
There was a pause.
Long.
Heavy.
Then—
He stepped closer.
I felt it before I saw it.
I hesitated—just slightly—then turned my head just enough to glance out.
He was standing beside the open door, watching me.
Something unreadable in his expression.
