Page 121 of The Ache That Stayed

His arm tightened around my waist instead of letting me go, pulling me back into him as though the distance I was trying to create didn’t exist. Like distance was a lie he refused to believe in.

“Five minutes,” he murmured, his voice low against my temple, steady in a way that made my chest tighten.

“Santino—”

“Five.”

I sighed. Somehow it felt natural. To just lay there, in his arms. How easy it would be to stay right there and forget everything that came after.

I pulled away the moment his grip loosened, not trusting myself to hesitate even a second longer. Creating distance from him—from whatever I was feeling. From the way he looked at me.

Because I knew that look now. Had felt it. Given into it.

And I wasn’t sure I could survive it twice in the same night.

“I need to shower,” I repeated, softer this time.

Not waiting for his response as I turned and walked toward the bathroom. Each step felt deliberate, measured. If I slowed down, if I gave myself even a second to think, I knew I’d turn back and curl right back into him.

The door shut behind me with a soft click, but it echoed louder in my head than it should have—a fragile boundary already threatening to break.

I stepped into the shower before the water had a chance to warm, letting the cold hit me full force. It stole the air from my lungs. Sharp. Punishing. I welcomed it.

My hands dragged over my skin—arms, stomach, thighs—scrubbing harder than necessary like friction alone could erase the last hour. Like I could undo the way my body had responded, the way I had let him in without hesitation, without thought.

But it didn’t work. Because no matter how hard I tried—he wasn’t just on my skin anymore. My body still felt too aware, too alive, too… changed.

Then hot water hit my skin, relentless and heavy, as if the sheer heat could burn everything away.

I wrapped my arms around myself, squeezing hard in a desperate bid to hold myself together. Anything to stop the unravelling.

Scrubbing.

Scrubbing.

Until my skin stung, turning an angry shade of red, and it still wasn’t enough. As if I could erase what had happened. Like I could erase me.

A sharp pang hit my chest—so sudden it made my heart squeeze.

What was this feeling? And why was it because of him?

My breath hitched, and I leaned forward, bracing my palms against the cool tile, letting the hot water run over my back.

I tried to think, to breathe, to understand why I was this way.

I knew better.

I should’ve known better.

And still, my body had opened for him like it had known him all along. As though it had been waiting and none of this was new. Like I wasn’t betraying anything at all.

My mind fought it, screamed, clawed, trying to force me to be rational. But some part of me had already surrendered.

Pathetic.

My hands stilled for a second before moving again—harder.

This is who you are. Weak. Easy. A woman who spreads her legs the second someone touches her right.