It hurts, but I’m still buzzing from his fingers and it’s mostly a good kind of hurt. Like he’s branding me to my very bones. I trail my fingers down his smooth back as he sinks into me, stretching me, burning me alive. My breath catches, and I force myself to release it.

“Are you okay?” he asks, before groaning, “God, Shelby, I’m sorry, I’m—”

He jerks on top of me, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out at the stinging between my legs as he comes, but as his forehead sinks to my shoulder, I can’t help but press a soft kiss to his neck. I’m feeling overwhelmed. Tender inside and out.

Because right then, under the stars, he’s mine and I’m his. Two halves becoming a whole.

Sunday morning finds me staring at the four walls of my bedroom, cursing the brilliant yellow sunshine for searing into my seething brain.

I’m such an idiot.

First-class, last-class, no-class idiot.

Five years. Five years I’ve spent putting up boundaries and one stupid kiss undoes them all.

And then he calls it a mistake?

Hot tears flood the corners of my eyes and I swipe at them angrily, throwing off my covers and stomping out of bed before I can get any more pathetic. Though, waking up from a wet dream about losing your virginity is pretty much as pathetic as you can get, if we’re keeping track.

Of course, it was a mistake. Getting involved with Shelby Springfield is always a mistake. But in my defense, this time, he started it. He kissed me. He pulled me against him.

Didn’t he?

I shake my head, stepping under the shower spray, not bothering to wait for it to warm. I grit my teeth against the hiss in the back of my throat. Fuck, it’s freezing.

Good. Ice to match the cold shoulder he gave me.

Christ, Springfield. Don’t be so dramatic. He’s your friend and business partner.

And first love, a tiny voice admits, originating somewhere around my fractured heart.

You don’t find your soulmate at ten. Besides, soulmates go both ways and Cameron Riggs has now walked away from me three times.

The first time, we were basically kids. The second, I was a sloppy tequila-infused mess. Third time, though? I’m sober, I’m consenting, I’m an adult.

And I know, I know he would have taken me against the wall at the Caroline Street house. His eyes were pure sex. Even now, I can still feel the steely length of him pressed against me, ready. It would have been easier than breathing.