My summer of love

You came to my room knowing exactly what would happen. The moment the door closes behind you, the air shifts between us—charged, dangerous, impossible to ignore.

"This has to stop," you whisper, but your feet don't move toward the exit. They move toward me.

I smile because we both know the truth you're not ready to say out loud. "Is that what you really want?"

"You have a girlfriend," you say, the words hollow even as they leave your lips.

"And yet here you are." I step closer, watching your resolve crumble with every inch between us. "We both remember what happened last week. Your hands, my touch—you were begging for more."

"That was a mistake."

"A mistake you came back for." My fingers find your waist, pulling you against me as your breathing quickens. Your eyes search mine, conflicted and desperate. "Stop lying to yourself. You want this more than I do."

The guilt wars with desire across your face—but desire wins. When our lips finally meet, it's inevitable, explosive, exactly what we both needed and neither of us can deny anymore. The summer we swore would be simple just became dangerously complicated.