‘What’s wrong? Don’t feel guilty, Bekka, don’t you dare,’ his voice turns harsher then. ‘This is why I wouldn’t let you touch me. Call it fucked up morals or whatever you like, but you have done nothing wrong. This is all on me. Let me carry the weight of it. Let me carry the guilt. I refuse to let you carry that along with everything else.’ He jerks back so we’re almost nose to nose. Huge ebony eyes bore into mine. ‘Do you think he’s feeling guilty this morning?’ He snorts. ‘It’s not that,’ I say quietly, dragging the back of my hand over my streaky cheeks. ‘What then?’ His eyes search mine.
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