What if she didn’t stop me next time?
What would her lips taste like if I kissed her?
What if?—
Fuck.
I close my eyes, groaning as I grip myself, trying—failing—to think about anything else.But all I see is Anna.The flush on her skin.The way her lips parted.The sharp inhale of breath before she forced it down.
My hand moves like it has a mind of its own.
I should stop.I don’t.
My free hand fists against the wall.My breath shudders as I bite back her name.
Fuck.Fuck.
A minute later, I stand there, head tipped back against the tile, feeling nothing but regret.
So much for a cold shower.
I blow out another captive breath, releasing myself as I let the water cascade over my head and torso.
I stay there as long as I can, allowing the water to wash away any evidence of my indiscretion.
I can’t tell her—can’t admit to any of this.Hell, I can’t even talk about this to my best friend because he’d literallykill me.But I also can’t just sit here waiting for her to crack again.
She won’t.
Anna’s too damn stubborn.
She’ll patch up the cracks, reinforce the walls, and pretend nothing happened.
And I can’t let her.
Not after this.
I scrub a hand through my wet hair, thinking.
She won’t give me an inch.
She won’t open the damn envelope.
She won’t let herself be vulnerable.
But there’s one thing she can’t resist.Iknowshe can’t.
So maybe?—
Maybe I don’t push her.
Maybe I let her pull herself in.
If I pretend to struggle with a song—something off, just enough to get under her skin—she won’t be able to help herself.
She’ll correct me.
She’ll engage.