Page 18 of What You left in Me

Every touch is slow and thoughtful, like he’s memorizing me. Neck. Waist. Back.

His hand trails lower, down the line of my spine, until it rests at the small of my back. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin lace holding me there. He doesn’t stop there. His fingers slide further, lower, brushing past the edge of the fabric that barely counts as coverage.

My breath hitches, raspy and unsteady, as his hand closes over me. His grip is firm and rough, claiming the curve of my ass where the thong leaves me bare. The contrast is startling, his hand hot, sure, and unrelenting against skin that shouldn’t be his to touch.

A low gasp escapes before I can swallow it down. Too soft to be a protest, too raw to be anything but the truth.

Move. You should move.The thought slams into me with Julian’s name attached, his ring still snug on my finger, thepromise I made echoing like a warning bell. I should shove him back, tell him to stop, remind myself who I’m supposed to belong to.

But I don’t.

I don’t move.

I can’t.

His fingers flex against me, one hand lightly squeezing my ass while the other cradles my neck, his thumb brushing over my lips in a slow, teasing stroke, warmth radiating through me like fire. My heart pounds, my body betrays me, and for one suspended moment, I let it.

Then…

A buzz. Low and insistent. The jarring vibration of a phone against skin.

The sound shatters the connection between us. He stiffens like he’s been brought back to earth. I blink, reality slamming back into place, my lungs finally pulling in a full breath.

He lets go. Both of his hands dropping away from me simultaneously, as if the contact burned him.

The phone keeps buzzing, piercing and persistent, until Finn curses under his breath and digs it out of his pocket. He doesn’t look at me when he checks the screen, doesn’t explain or say a word.

And that just makes me feel worse because it leaves me standing there, dripping, bare, every inch of me still burning where his hands were.

My body moves before my brain does. I snatch my towel off the ground, fumbling as I yank it around me, covering as much of myself as I can. My hands shake as I tie tightly around myself, my breaths short and uneven.

I can’t look at him. I walk away from him fast, then faster, my wet feet slapping against the tile as I put distance between us.

By the time I reach the doors, I’m almost running, my pulse wild in my ears.

What the hell were we doing?

I grip my towel tighter, heart pounding as I hurry through the quiet halls. My head is a storm, my body traitorous.What is wrong with me? I have a fiancé. I love Julian. I know I do.

Yet my skin still hums with Finn’s touch, my throat still tight where his hand lingered, my body still betraying me with every shiver that wasn’t from the cold.

By the time I slam my bedroom door shut, my heart hasn’t slowed. My towel sticks to my body, soaked through, filled with the cold and regret. I yank it off and let it drop in a damp heap on the floor. My skin is still prickling, goosebumps stubborn across my arms, not from the cold anymore but fromhim.

What the hell is happening to me?

I tug at the bikini top, fingers fumbling with the clasp. It peels off my skin with a wet squelch, cups so transparent now they may as well be invisible. I toss it into the sink, half tempted to light it on fire. The thong is even worse. Thin strips of fabric clinging to me, stretched and useless. I peel it down, cursing under my breath as it sticks to my thighs, and fling it into the laundry basket like it personally betrayed me.

The shower hisses to life, steam fogging the mirror instantly. I step in, let the hot water crash over me, and brace my palms against the tile. My forehead presses forward, and I close my eyes, letting the heat wash down my spine, the ache between my legs. I’m trying to burn away the memory.

But it won’t go.

Everywhere he touched still is still electrified. My neck, my shoulder, the small of my back, lower… God. The sound of my gasp when his hand closed over me echoes in my ears.

“What the hell, Ariane,” I mutter, water pounding over me. “You’re engaged. To a good man. Who sends you flowers and remembers your students’ names. Not… whatever that was.”

I scrub shampoo into my hair harder than necessary, like I can scrub him out of my head.Spoiler: it doesn’t work.By the time I’m rinsing off, my mind is still looping back, replaying the way his hand felt on my skin, warm and rough, the heat of his body when he stepped close.

By the time I step out, a fresh towel wrapped around me, my reflection in the mirror looks like a guilty stranger. Flushed cheeks, damp hair, wide eyes. I point at myself. “You’re pathetic. And possibly insane.”