Page 25

I should be stopping this. I know I should.
This is insane. Completely and utterly insane.
I’m a virgin.
The realization hits me like a bucket of cold water. Not that I’d forgotten—I hadn’t—but now it feels glaringly obvious.
How do I tell him that? Do I even tell him that?
He’s already pulling my shirt up, his hands moving with a confidence that makes my stomach flip. His lips are on my collarbone now, and a small, unbidden sound escapes me.
God, this is happening.
This is happening, and I have to stop it.
“Cole,” I say, louder this time, my hands on his chest, pushing lightly.
He pauses, his greeneyes meeting mine, dark with something I can’t quite name.
“Annie?” he asks, his voice low, his breath warm against my skin.
“I—” My voice catches. I don’t know what to say. “I can’t. We can’t.”
His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face.
“Why?” he asks, his hands still on my waist, holding me in place.
Because I don’t want my first time to be like this. Because I don’t want it to be with you—not when I’m just another notch on your bedpost, not when you’ll regret this tomorrow.
“I just can’t,” I say, my voice trembling. “I’m sorry.”
I expect him to be angry. Maybe even a little annoyed. And maybe he is, though if he is, he hides it well. He sets me back on the floor, and his hands drop from my waist as he takes a step back, his expression unreadable.
“Okay,” he says simply, his voice flat.
The coldness in his tone makes my chest tighten, and I can’t stop the flood of emotions—embarrassment, guilt, regret, relief—all hitting me at once.
“I should go,” I mumble, grabbing the edges of my blouse andpulling on it, yanking it down.
He doesn’t stop me, doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, watching me with those unreadable green eyes.
I don’t look back as I leave the room. My heart is still racing, but for an entirely different reason now.
By the time I reach my bedroom, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely turn the doorknob. Once inside, I lean back against the door, exhaling shakily.
What have I done?
What almost happened?
I press my palms to my face, trying to calm my breathing. My heart is still pounding, and my skin feels hot, like I’m on fire.
This is a disaster.
I can still feel the weight of his hands on my waist, the warmth of his lips on my skin, the feel of his fingers inside me, and the way his voice sounded when he said my name.
And I hate that a part of me wanted more. Wanted all of it.
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