Bree
I sat down on the bed, clutching my bag tight against me like it was some kind of shield. My fingers dug into the worn straps, knuckles whitening, as if holding on to it could keep me from unraveling completely. I shouldn’t have taken off my bra earlier. God, I knew I shouldn’t have done that. Because after the way Gage had looked at me—after that grin he’d given me when I’d all but admitted I wanted to sleep next to him—my body felt like it was on high alert. Every nerve, every inch of me, was suddenly aware of him in a way that felt dangerous.
The bag was my only protection now, pressed tight against my chest to hide the betraying peaks of my n*****s through my thin shirt. They were ridiculously sensitive, and every brush of fabric only made it worse. The warmth pooling low in my
