Ivy’s POV
His body is a wall of heat against mine. Tense. Controlled. But barely.
“You should go back to your room, Ivy,” he says, voice sharp, strained, like the words cost him everything. “Now.”
I blink up at him, heart cracking wide open. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m saying it because I have to,” he mutters, jaw clenched, refusing to look at me. “Because if I don’t, I’ll forget every damn reason why this is wrong.”
I reach up and touch his face just barely grazing his cheek. His stubble rasps against my fingers, and I feel him freeze under me like I’d lit a fuse.
“Please don’t make me go,” I whisper.
He finally looks at me and f**k, there it is again. That flicker. That war behind his eyes. Lust and guilt. Desire and denial. He looks at me like I am temptation itself. Like touching me
