Grayson
Sleep was playing a game of hide and seek that night.
When I finally caught it, it was shallow, restless, haunted by the ghost of a woman I couldn't get off my mind.
Her smile. Her touch.
By dawn, I was still wide awake. The city outside my window was still covered in the gray quiet of morning, but my head was anything but calm. Last night I went too far.
She had come undone, and I knew that if I didn't stop, she would have hated me afterward.
Her taste still lingered, soft, maddening, like a drug I couldn't get out of my system. The way her breath hitched, the way she clutched my shirt and buried her hands in my hair, like she hated herself for wanting me. The memory played in a loop I couldn't shut off.
I asked a hand through my hair, forcing myself out of bed. The mirror
