Lana’s POV
The look on his face said it all. That little smirk, the fire in his eyes—he knew. He knew that after the drug had worn off, in the deep, quiet part of the night, I’d said those words to him. I’d spoken willingly. My sober self had been buried under layers of exhaustion and something else, something scarier… a feeling of being safe. And he’d heard it. Now, in the harsh light of morning, he was starving to hear it again. He was a man dying of thirst, and my confession was his only water.
But I couldn’t. Saying it now, with my head clear and my shame wide awake, felt like tearing my own heart out and handing it to him.
“I really, really need the toilet,” I pleaded, my voice shaking. I tried to push past him, but my struggling just made me press closer, my legs accidentally cla
