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It should have though.
Because that’s the biggest reason why.
I swallow. “Yes. And so you shouldn’t ask —”
“And you’ve been separated for two years now.”
“That’s —”
“And so itismy business. Myright. To know,” he says, bites out really, his eyes narrowed.
It should sound ridiculous.
What he just said.
It did whenIsaid it.
But somehow it doesn’t. Not right now.
Not when my breaths are all squirmy and my nipples are sore.
And my skin is on fire because ofhisskin.
His possessiveness.
“To know if someone else has touched me?” I whisper.
“Yeah. Because I know he hasn’t.”
No, he hasn’t.
Lucas hasn’t touched me in that way. We never got to that part.
I wouldn’t let him.
For some reason.
We’d kiss and touch each other over our clothes. But I wouldn’t let him put his hand under. And he always respected that. He respected my boundaries.
His best friend — or rather ex-best friend — doesn’t.
He obliterates my boundaries, my walls, to make space for himself.
And usually I fight back. I hold my own.
But in this moment, I’m a feather, light and fragile, and he’s the hurricane, cruel and forceful.
“No, he hasn’t,” I whisper.
He licks his split lip. “So then I have a right to know if you’re in the same condition that my best friend left you in.”
There’s so many things wrong here.
I’m not an object. I can be in any condition that I want to be in.
Besides, his best friend is definitely not in the same condition thatIleft him in.
So I should stop this.
