Nick
I woke up with my jaw locked so hard my teeth hurt.
My head was pounding, a dull, heavy throb behind my eyes that hadn't let up since three in the morning.
I lay there on the massive, stupidly soft bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the memory to fade or soften. It didn't. Every single second of last night was right there, sharp and clear and completely humiliating.
I'd touched myself. I'd laid in that dark room, my skin still hot, and I'd used the memory of Cyan's hand, Cyan's mouth, Cyan looking down at me like he owned the space between us. I'd done it after telling him no. After acting like I was completely above it, like he couldn't touch me if I didn't let him.
My ego felt like it had been dragged through gravel. I hated him. I hated the house, I hated the thread-count on the sheets, and I hated myself most of all.
