The days after that night with Ethan felt like a dream, a feverish, intoxicating dream I couldn't escape from.
When Jason looked at me, I could see the hurt in his eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't go back to the way things were.
Ethan was the only one who made me feel alive now. The intensity in his eyes, the way he made me forget everything else when he touched me, kissed me, held me close—nothing else mattered. Not the guilt. Not the broken promises. Just him.
But every time I closed my eyes, I could still see Jason's face—the man who had once promised me forever. The man who had given me everything, only to watch me throw it all away.
The guilt was unbearable.
But Ethan's touch was even more powerful. It was like a drug I couldn't quit, and every time I tried to pull away, I found myself sinking deeper into the darkness of desire.
One afternoon, I found myself in Ethan's apartment again, this time with no excuses.
He had been distant the last few days, as though he knew something was shifting between us. But today, when I walked in, the look on his face was different—darker, hungrier.
"You've been avoiding me," he said, his voice rough, dangerous.
"I'm not avoiding you," I said, but my voice wavered.
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his scent wrapping around me like a promise. "Then why does it feel like you're running from me?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, I took a step forward, closing the space between us. Ethan's eyes darkened as I reached up and cupped his face, my fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw.
"I'm not running," I whispered, and before I could second-guess myself, I kissed him.
The kiss was hungry, desperate, as though we both knew we were standing on the edge of something irreversible. Something that would destroy everything if we went any further.
But we didn't stop.