ACIR HILLS
“This isn’t right, Zaijian.”
The words barely left my lips. They were little more than a whisper, fragile enough to dissolve beneath the rain tapping against his apartment windows, and yet he heard them. He always did. He stood only inches away, his breathing ragged, his eyes fixed on mine. Neither of us moved and neither of us seemed capable of taking the first step backward.
My lips still tingled from his kiss, and that was the problem. I could still feel it: the warmth of his mouth, the softness of his touch, the way my whole body had answered him before my mind could catch up and remind me that I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t have kissed him, I shouldn’t have let him kiss me, and I shouldn’t have wanted it.
But I had, and that frightened me more than anything.
Hi
