Slamming back into the present moment, I shove Dom’s hand away, rip my mouth from his, and scramble off the bed. Distance. I need space. But standing, seeing his lips swollen from kisses and his cheeks flushed and his eyes hungry, does nothing to ease the amount I crave him. Or the way I fear what he could do to me if I let him in again. “Maddie?” “I can’t do that,” I blurt, and Dom stiffens. His face begins to shutter, all the wanting he showed me getting forcefully repressed. My gut clenches, regret clawing at my insides.
This is disturbing. She was so traumatized by heavy petting eight years ago that she had this reaction? She is incapable of moving past ANYTHING
