hair. His fingers curl, pulling gently while I grind against him, searching for my release. “Fuck,” he hisses, and he grabs a handful of my butt, squeezing tight, pressing down, putting more pressure at the parts we connect. He thrusts, again and again, and then he—
He stops.
It’s a quick movement.
So abrupt it takes a moment for me to realize what’s happening.
“Jesus fuck, Mia!” And then he’s rolling out from beneath me, cursing under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
The weight of my actions falls steady on my chest, slowly, gradually, until it hits me like a vice, wrapping around my heart. It’s suddenly cold, too cold, and the only warmth I feel is the guilt when it leaks out from behind my eyelids and catches on my cheeks.
What have I done?
“I should go,” I whisper into the darkness.
“Yeah,” Leo says, and I can hear the agony in his voice. “You really should.”
Leo
I run.
I run until I can’t feel my legs anymore. Or any other part of my body. I run until my lungs cave in, and my mind goes numb, and I can no longer remember what it feels like to have her on top of me, in my arms, my mouth on places I’ve fucking fantasized over for years. And then I collapse, face-up on the road, basking in the way the morning sun burns me alive.
Every inhale is torture.
Every exhale the same.
I didn’t have to stop it. I could’ve kept going until I’d stripped her bare, my fingers leaving marks on those fucking thighs of hers. And I wouldn’t have stopped—not until my hands and my tongue tasted of nothing but her for days. And then I could’ve had her, my cock deep in her pussy while she writhed on the bed, begging for more. I could’ve flipped her over, gripped her waist, pressed her face into the mattress, and fucked her the way I dream about.
I could’ve had her.
I groan at the thought.
If I didn’t care about where we’d stand a year, a day, or even a minute after it was all over, I could have had her.
But I do care.
And that’s why I stopped it.
Because it would’ve been a mistake—a moment of weakness.
And five years on, there’s only one thing I’m positive of: Mia and I—together—we deserve more than just one moment.
We deserve a lifetime.
When I get back to the house, Mia’s already waiting for me. I slow my steps as I approach the porch, where she’s sitting on the porch swing offering a weak smile. “Hey,” she says, raising a hand.
“Hey,” I reply, out of breath.
She points to the little table between her grandpa’s rocking chair and mine, where she’s set out a jug filled with iced water. “You down, like, twenty of them after a run.”
With a nod, I flop down on my chair and fill a glass. “So what’s up?” I ask, staring ahead.
The chains of the porch swing creak as she shifts. “I just feel like we need to talk about what happened.”
I inhale as much air as my lungs can handle, down the entire glass, and fill it again. “So talk,” I say, but it comes out harsher than intended.
“Like adults,” she tells me, and I look down at my lap.
It’s not that I don’t think we should talk about it; it’s just that I don’t know what to say, and, if I’m being honest, I’m terrified of every single word that might possibly leave her lips. “I can do that,” I lie.
“How, Leo?” she asks. “You can’t even look at me.”
My eyes drift shut, and I take a moment, two, and when I open them again, they’re on her. She’s sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, her chin resting on them, arms wrapped around her legs. “I’m sorry.” She almost chokes on the words.
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “Don’t say you’re sorry or that you regret it or any other thing that’ll try to convince me that you didn’t want it to happen. Because you did, Mia. Even for a second, you wanted it as much as I did. And you saying that shit will take it all away.”
“Then what do you want me to say?” she almost shouts. “I accidentally fell asleep, and you—”
“What?” I cut in, my eyebrows drawn. “I took advantage of you?”
“No! God, no, Leo. I know you’d never do that. I just…” she trails off, her chest rising with her intake of air.
“Look,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “It happened,