Noah.
I stepped away from her, not because I didn't want her. Damn, I wanted her more than I had ever wanted anything.
My entire body was still burning from the feel of her lips against mine, from the way she had leaned into me instead of pushing me away. The warmth of her was still lingering on my skin, and every instinct inside me screamed to close the distance again.
But I had to pull away.
I had to.
If I didn't, I wasn't sure I would be able to stop.
I turned my face from her, trying to steady my breathing. I could still taste her, still feel the softness of her beneath my hands. The urge to take a step back toward her, just one, was almost unbearable.
I didn't want her to hate me.
That fear sat heavier in my chest than the desire.
I was scared she would hate me.
She had rejected me countless times before. Each time had carved its own quiet wound into my pride, into my heart. I had learned to swallow it. To act unaffected. But it always hurts.
