Emma's POV
I cover my face with both hands.
The heat radiating from my cheeks is enough to warm the room. I would very much like to dissolve into the mattress and cease to exist as a physical entity.
His hand still rests against me, through the fabric, unmoving.
"Hey." His voice has changed—still rough, still low, but gentler now. The hand at my face doesn't pull my hands away. Instead his fingers close around my wrists, lightly, and he waits. "Emma. Look at me."
I shake my head.
"Emma." Just my name. The way he says it—like it means something specific, like I am something specific to him, not a problem to manage or a body to use but a specific irreplaceable person whose face he would like to see. "Please."
I lower my hands.
He's propped above me, his weight on one elbow, his expre
