The person Isolde had run to back then—the one she clung to in her lowest moment had the fucking audacity to moan the name of the woman she hated most while using her body to get off.
"That night I was an idiot. A fucking idiot," Mathias muttered, "My head was a mess. When you wrapped your legs around my waist, when you kissed me, when you were sweating under me… that's when it hit me. I was falling for you. And that scared the shit out of me." He swallowed hard, like the words burned on the way out.
"My mind was all over the place. I needed an excuse to push you away. As long as you were with Maxen, I knew I'd keep crawling back to you—and you'd keep letting me in with open arms. So I fucked it up on purpose. And I regret the hell out of it." Isolde tried to wrench her wrist from his grip, but Mathias wouldn't let go.
