“You don’t know shit,” I whispered. My voice barely made it past my throat, caught on the lump forming there.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stared, soaking me in like he could see straight through the lies I wrapped myself in.
“Don’t I?” he said, almost bored. His fingers dragged slowly down the curve of my jaw, thumb brushing my lower lip. My lips parted. On instinct.
I hated him. Hated how much I wanted him.
“You’re shaking,” he said, voice a low hum.
“I’m not.”
I was.
He pressed closer, and I felthimagainst the bare skin of my thigh.
“I could make youmine,“ he said. “But the truth is, Trouble… you’ve already been.”
My breath hitched.
He didn’t touch me beyond that one hand, didn’t push. He didn’t have to. His presence alone was enough to undo every wall I had built.
“You were mine the moment you looked at me like I was human.” He chuckled, “That was your first mistake.”
A drop of rain hit the window. Then another. The storm we had both been holding back was coming.
“I should scream,” I said. “Tell them what you said. What you’re doing.”
His smile curved darker. “You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you want this as much as I do. Maybe more.”
I hated how right he sounded.
I hated how my legs refused to back away.
“Maybe,” I said, but my voice cracked.
He leaned closer, lips grazing the shell of my ear, breath hot enough to burn.
“They’d call you crazy if they knew what you thought at night.” He took a step back, smile on his lips, “But I’d call youmine.”
His.
He stood then, slowly, dragging his eyes over me like he was taking a picture he would keep locked in a drawer forever.
“Put something on,” he said. “I’m taking you out.”
“What?” I blinked up at him. “Where?”
My breath caught again.
And then he turned, walked to the door, and looked back just once.
“I’ll be downstairs. Ten minutes, Trouble. Don’t make me come back up.”
The door shut behind him with a softclick, and I was left staring at the muffin still cradled in my palm.
