His hand stroked firmly down my arm and ribs, his thumb skimming the edge of my bra and sending bolts of pleasure through me while at the same time awakening old fears: I couldn’t stop him. He was too big. Too strong. Too—no. This was what I wanted. I arched up as he tugged the neckline of my T-shirt aside and ran his tongue along my collarbone. The searing heat of my desire for him made it easier to shove all my memories down a deep hole in my mind. This was my choice. This was mine.

His fingers traveled down my hip and curled around my thigh, hungry and searching. I kept my arms around his neck and my hands in his hair, holding on for dear life as our need for each other took over. And just as I was reaching that equilibrium—that reassurance that this was all right, that I was safe, that Malachi would not hurt me—he shifted his hips and settled himself between my legs. I couldn’t contain the whimper.

Malachi froze, his mouth locked on to the junction of my neck and shoulder. And then, quick as a viper, he scooted away from me, leaving me lying on my back, stunned.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he panted. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Stop,” I said, staring at the ceiling. “Please.” I summoned all my courage and turned to look at him.

Malachi had drawn his knees to his chest and had one hand over his mouth. He was staring at me like he’d just stabbed me. “I forgot myself,” he said. “I forgot that you—that … I forgot.”

I covered my eyes with the heels of my palms and pressed hard, trying to scrub his expression from my memory banks. Because here it was, that look I’d never wanted to see. The one that said he thought I was broken. And inside me, the echoing fear that I actually was. I should have been thankful he was so sensitive. I’m sure a lot of other guys would have ignored that whimper. But instead it pissed me off, because I didn’t want to have to deal with it. I wanted to be normal. “Since you’re feeling forgetful, can we forget this happened?”

“No,” he said in a hollow voice. “Please look at me.”

I finally complied. He’d moved a bit closer and didn’t look as shell-shocked, but I had to wonder if it was just beneath the surface. “Okay. I’m looking at you.”

And God, it felt wonderful and terrible at the same time. Everything I wanted was wrapped up in that moment, along with everything I couldn’t have because it had already been taken.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “for scaring you.”

“You didn’t—”