“Please.” I press my forehead against hers, anchoring myself, trying desperately to think through the fog of want. “You’re going from zero to sixty, and I just need a second to?—”
“What’s wrong?” She shifts on top of me again, and stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Nothing’s wrong.” My voice cracks. “I just—you’re?—”
Deep breath. Try again.
“I find you insanely attractive,” she says, like she’s explaining something obvious. Her fingers play with the button of my jeans now, toying with it, not quite opening it but making it very clear where this is heading. “And you clearly want this too.”
She’s not wrong. God, she’s not wrong. My body is making that abundantly, humiliatingly clear.
“I do,” I manage. “I really do. But?—”
Her hands slide against my chest again and drag down. Palms flat against my stomach, fingers spreading, exploring, and?—
Jesus.
Jesus Christ.
I catch both her wrists. Hold them still, even though touching her is somehow making this worse. Making me want to just give in and?—
No.No.Think. I need to think.
“Harper, wait. Just—can we talk about this for a second?”
“Talk?” She pulls one hand free and frames my face, searching my eyes. “You want totalkright now?”
“I just—” I’m trying to be responsible here. Trying to think past the lust. Trying to— “This is—We need to?—”
She kisses me again.
And I’m done. I’m fuckingdonetrying to resist.
Fuck limits.
My hands slide into her hair, and I kiss her back with everything I have, pouring every ounce of want and needand desperation into it. She makes that sound again—that perfect, broken sound—and I swallow it, pulling her down against me until there’s no space between us at all.
Her shirt rides up. My hands find bare skin again. She arches into my touch, pressing closer, and the friction is?—
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can barely remember my own name.
This is going to happen. This is actually going to happen. In about thirty seconds, I’m going to stop thinking entirely and just let this happen, because she wants it, and I want it, and we both?—
And then what?
The thought cuts through the haze like a blade.
And. Then. What.
Seven days. In seven days, she’s gone. She leaves, and I never see her again, and this—whatever this is between us—it just... ends.
Like it never mattered.
Likeshenever mattered to me.
Like I never mattered to her.
No.