Page 67 of Scattered Glitter

His scent floods my senses—warm leather, amber, a hint of tobacco and weed clinging to him. It’s so intoxicating that I forget where I am, what I’m supposed to be doing. I shift on his lap, feeling every inch of him beneath me, the heat ofhis body radiating through the thin layers of fabric between us.

“Can you stop that shit and talk to me?” he asks lowly, seriously, back to pleading.

For a second, I think about pushing him away, about getting up and fucking leaving. Instead, I settle in his lap, my legs on either side of him, his hands steadying me. It feels almost too natural, too easy.

I watch as he struggles—reallystruggles—to keep his eyes on mine and not on my tits, which are practically in his face. It’s kind of funny how he keeps darting his gaze up like he’s trying to be respectful, but I can see the effort. He’s trying, and for some reason, that makes me soften.

“What happened?” His voice catches me off guard. Not accusatory. Not angry. Just… vulnerable. “What did I do? Did I… hurt you?”

The question lingers, heavy and uncomfortable. It wasn’t him. I was into it. Intohim. It’s not his fault he triggered something buried deep. I can’t tell him that. I won’t. He deservessomething, though. I’m not so cold-hearted as to let him think he crossed a line.

“No. You didn’t do anything,” I say, quieter than I intended. “It was probably a bad trip.”

“A bad trip?” His brow furrows, suspicion all over his face. “Fromweed?”

“Seems like it.” I shrug. “Sorry.”

He studies me, his gaze too sharp, like he’s trying to pick apart my thoughts. Like he knows I’m lying.

God, I’m so done with human lie detectors for one day.

His fingers flex on my hips, but he doesn’t push. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he says slowly. “I hope you know I’d never do anything you don’t want.”

“You didn’t do anything that wasn’t consensual. But I learned my lesson. I won’t be smoking weed for a while.”

I have no idea how long that will last, though, if I can’t use alcohol as a crutch.

He leans back, his hands still resting on my hips, his touch steady, grounding. “Deal.”

I blink. “What?”

“Let’s turn the weed down a little,” he says casually, but the way he’s watching me isn’t casual at all.

My defenses snap up. “Why would you do that?”

Isn’t this guy always at least a little high?

His eyes stay locked on mine. “Because I figured… I’d rather be in the moment with you.”

“The moment is more enjoyable when you’re high.” I try to cling to the distance I’ve built between us, but it’s slipping. His thumbs start tracing small circles on my hips, drawing me in piece by piece.

It was hard enough to keep him at a distance when I was drunk, but this? This is torture.

He leans in, close enough that his breath skims my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Lately, you’re the only thing I want to be high on.”

Fuck.My pulse stutters, a nervous laugh escaping before I can stop it. He’s getting too close, too real.

“My freakout didn’t scare you off?”

“Baby, if anything, it made me want you more.” He groans. “I wasso damn close.”

Right, this is about fucking.

It’s just sex.

I can do sex. Hell, I did that for years. My mushed feelings are because of everything that happened today. Not him.

It’s not him.

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