He moved closer, his body filling the small laundry room, and suddenly, I felt like there wasn’t enough air in the space. My back instinctively pressed against the wall, but he didn’t stop, his eyes holding mine in a way that made my stomach twist and my pulse race.
“What are you—” I started, but before I could finish, his hands were suddenly on my waist in a firm hold, and I gasped as he lifted me like I weighed nothing.
I barely had time to process what was happening before he sat me on the still-boxed washing machine in the corner of the room. The cold surface seeped through the thin material of his shirt I was still wearing, but I hardly noticed because he was standing between my legs now, his hands still resting lightly on my hips.
The space between us was suffocatingly small
