I suck air between my teeth when he reaches for my face, caressing along the edge of my jaw with the back of his hand. My mouth opens to say something, anything, but his thumb moves to my lips and presses against them. “No, it’s not okay,” he says roughly. Then he’s gone. A faint glimmer of hope flickers deep within my soul that maybe, just maybe, there’s a part of Andrew Blackwell that still loves me after all.
