“Still feel like running?” he asked, his voice low, his breath warm against my ear. I shook my head—no hesitation. No uncertainty. “The words, chaos,” he said. “I need the words.” “No,” I breathed. “I’m done running.” “You can still run, baby.” He slid his hands beneath my—his—sweatshirt, pulling it up and off me before tossing it to the side. Then he stepped close, reaching around to cup my breasts as he brushed his lips against my ear. “You’re just done running without me.”
