But it didn’t.
It didn’t end me.
It cracked me open.
Because something about hearing him say that in that voice, in that tone, with his mouth still so close I could taste the heat of it — made my whole body rebel. It made my throat burn. It made the slick between my thighs flood so hard I felt it dripping into my underwear. It made my mouth open without my permission.
“Then teach me,” I said, and the second the words left my lips, the air in the hallway changed.
He stopped walking.
His back was still to me, but his whole frame went still, and I could see the shift in his shoulders.
It was subtle, but it was enough. He heard me. He felt it. And so did I. Because the second I said it out loud — the second I admitted that I didn’t want his patience, didn’t want his kindness, didn’t wa
