But she didn’t want to.
Because, for the first time, being with Andrew didn’t feel like a mistake.
It felt inevitable.
Andrew hovered over Amelia, his lips trailing down the delicate curve of her throat. His touch was reverent, deliberate—slow, just as she liked it.
Amelia’s breath was ragged, her body attuned to every movement he made. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t mindlessly consumed by urgency. No, he was savoring her—cherishing every inch of her with his lips, his hands, his heated gaze.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, tugging impatiently.
“Take it off,” she whispered.
Andrew smirked, his lips ghosting over her jaw before he pulled back just enough to obey. He reached behind his head and tugged the dark shirt over his shoulders, baring his toned chest. Amel
