I hurt her. I knew it. In the depths of my being, I understood that I had hurt Em so deeply she couldn’t even bring herself to look at me properly. The weight of that knowledge sat heavily on my chest, constricting my every breath.
It had been excruciatingly difficult last night. Seeing her standing there, her body barely covered by delicate lace and satin, her cheeks flushed, her hair a beautiful mess—it was everything I had ever wanted. She looked stunning, vulnerable, perfect. She had been offering herself to me, and the desire I felt for her had been primal, all-consuming. My fingers had itched to reach for her, to touch every inch of her, to claim her in a way that left no room for doubt. I wanted to lay her on that bed, to bury myself in her until we were both too breathless to thin
