Alex:
I didn’t want to move.
His sheets smelled like sweat and smoke and something warm and earthy I didn’t have a name for—but it clung to my skin, into my bones. I was sore in all the right places and raw in the ways that scared me more than bruises ever could.
It wasn’t the s*x.
We’d had that before—rough, fiery, addictive.
It was after.
The way he didn’t flinch when I curled into him. How his breathing stayed steady as I closed my eyes on his chest. His arm around me like it belonged there. Like I did.
The way he didn’t run.
That’s what gutted me.
That’s what was still gutting me now, as I stared at my reflection in his bathroom mirror. Eyes rimmed in faded mascara. Mouth still swollen. The oversized tee swallowing me whole. His tee.
Fuck.
I pressed my palms to the counter a
