Page 31 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

No, no, no.

“What is wrong with me?” I breathe out, pacing, my bare feet cold against the marble.

I should be disgusted. I am disgusted. But it’s tangled.

I push off the sink, shaking my head like I can physically throw the thought out of it.

I’m not doing this.

I squeeze my eyes tighter, breathing out slowly, trying to gather something solid, something that feels like me again.

Because I should be terrified.

I am terrified.

But my body doesn’t care. It reacts anyway.

The tingling feeling spreads fast after that, licking through me, spilling into my core, then everywhere, until my whole body feels like it’s on fire.

I press my legs together but it only makes it worse.

This is what he’s done. This is what he's reduced me to. To a body that reacts before I can think, before I can decide, before I can even want it properly.

And the worst part is that it's not stopping.

It’s building.

But I will fight this. I will fight him.

As if on cue, the door opens. And I stop pacing, spinning toward it.

Robert is there.

And if I wasn’t so repulsed by how much my body yearns for him, I’d say he’s breathtaking.

Leaning against the door like he didn’t rush, like he didn’t have to. Like he knew I wouldn’t go far.

Not that there’s anywhere to go. The bathroom is all surface and reflection. Marble, glass, light, with no corners deep enough to disappear into. No door that leads anywhere but back to him.

And still, I didn’t run. I didn’t look for another way out. Didn’t think to. Didn’t even try.

Because it’s not just that I can’t leave. It’s that… some part of me didn’t want to.

“Get out.” I flare immediately, my voice covering up for my shame. “I said get out.”

He doesn’t move or even pretend to.

His eyes move over me slowly, taking in everything I forgot to cover properly in my rush, everything I suddenly feel too exposed in.

“You ran,” he lets out, like it’s an observation, not an accusation.

“I left,” I correct, lifting my chin slightly. “There’s a difference.”

“Not really.”

“Wow.” I let out a short, discrediting laugh. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” The way he says it so unbothered, irritates me more.