My breathing roughens as I picture Peyton in my hoodie, wearing nothing but panties underneath.
The lace against my dick has my control slipping even more.
Suddenly, I’m envisioning her beneath me. Whispering my name while our bodies move together on my bed.
My grip tightens. Possessive thoughts slide in fast and ugly.
Mine.
She’s all mine.
The realization should terrify me. Instead, it nearly pushes me over the edge.
By the time I come, my chest is heaving hard enough to hurt.
Silence crashes over the loft afterward.
Reality settles in seconds later.
I stare at the ceiling, disgust twisting through my gut while Peyton’s panties still hang from my hand.
What the fuck am I doing?
Shame crawls beneath my skin.
Peyton’s downstairs sleeping in my guest room because her home was destroyed. She trusted me enough to come here and stay.
And I’m upstairs acting like some obsessed asshole jerking off while holding her underwear.
I shove the cum-soaked panties onto the nightstand and scrub both hands down my face hard enough to sting.
You need to get your shit together.
Peyton’s vulnerable. The last thing she needs is another man who makes her feel unsafe.
My chest tightens painfully.I would never hurt her. Never.
But the truth is, men like my father probably believed things like that once, too.
The thought makes me sick.
I stare at the ceiling, full of self-loathing.
Until exhaustionfinally drags me under.
I wakeup drenched in sweat, my fists clenched in the sheets, chest heaving like I ran a marathon through hell.
My eyes sweep the room like I need proof I’m not back inthathouse. That I’m not a scared kid again. That it was only a dream.
Except it wasn’t.
It was a memory.
My mom’s blue eyes were wide with panic. Her shoulders were shaking. Her lips were trembling as she begged, “Please, not in front of him.”
But the monster never listened.
He stormed into the room, grabbed her by the hair, and yanked so hard she screamed.
