I try not to think about how much I want him to stay. How I'd rather curl back against his chest and feel his arms around me again. That's not our reality. Last night was... what? A goodbye? A beginning? I don't know, but right now, all I know is he needs to get out of here. Now.
The weight of family expectations and history pressesdown on me, even as my body betrays me by wanting him still.
Warren remains motionless despite my touch. I lean over, my hair brushing his cheek.
God, I want to straddle him.
"Warren. You have to go." My voice is barely audible, even to myself.
He stirs beneath my fingers, forehead creasing before his eyes flutter open. For a moment, he looks at me, his warm brown eyes soft with sleep. And something tender passes between us.
Then reality crashes in. His expression shifts, jaw tightening as he sits up abruptly, the sheet pooling at his waist. He scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly alert.
"What time is it?" His voice is rough with sleep.
"Early. A little after five. But Mom usually gets up at five-thirty." My pulse quickens. "We can't?—"
"I know." He cuts me off, already reaching for his boxer briefs beside the bed.
The air between us crackles with everything unsaid. I pull the sheet higher, suddenly self-conscious despite what we did last night. The memory of his hands on my skin makes my breath catch.
"Last night was—" I swallow, searching for words that won't sound ridiculous. "It was incredible."
Warren pauses, one leg in his pants. His eyes meet mine, unguarded for once. "Yeah. Best damn thing I shouldn’t have done."
His words sting and soothe simultaneously. A mistake. The most perfect mistake.
"We can't do this again," I say what we're both thinking, though my body screams otherwise. Wetness pools below me, moistening the sheets.
"No." He zips his pants, movements controlled, deliberate. "We can't. Can I ask you not to say anything to anyone?"
"Of course. Blake would?—"
"I know what Blake would do." His voice is tight. "What your parents would think. This has to stay between us. Promise me."
I nod, throat burning. The weight of expectations, Blake's protectiveness, my parents' trust in Warren, all of it presses on my chest until I can hardly breathe.
"It's just—" I start, not knowing how to finish. Just what? Just sex? Just something I've wanted for years? Just the most honest I've ever felt with another person?
Warren sits on the edge of the bed, shirt half-buttoned. His hand finds mine atop the sheets.
"Janie." My name in his mouth sounds different now. "This isn't about not wanting you."
I look down at our joined hands. "I know."
"But we can't?—"
"I know that, too."
The silence stretches, filled with the sound of our breathing. I memorize the feeling of his palm against mine, knowing I shouldn't.
Warren stands, tucking in his shirt with quick, efficient movements. Each gesture pulls him further away, reconstructing the careful boundary we demolished last night.
The door clicks shut behind him, and suddenly, all the oxygen is sucked from the room.
I stare at the rumpled sheets, heat still trapped in the hollow where his body had been. My thighs press together, sensitive and aching, every nerve lit from the night before. I can still feel the wide push of him inside me, the way my body clutched and broke apart around him.
I bury my face in the pillow, breathing him in. I know that scent intimately, the clean soap, and his faint cologne.My nipples tighten against the thin fabric of the sheet, a raw reminder of his mouth, his hands.