(MAYA)
Morning finds me warm and surprisingly well-rested. For a moment, I can't place where I am, the bed is too soft, the room too large. Then I feel the weight of an arm around my waist and the heat of a body against my back, and the memories of last night come rushing back.
Griffin.
Oh god, what have I done?
I try to slip out of bed without waking him, but his arm tightens around me.
"Running away?" His voice is rough with sleep, his breath warm against my neck.
"I should get back before my mother worries," I say, not turning to face him. I can feel the flush creeping up my cheeks.
What happened to my self-control? My independence?
He props himself up on one elbow, gently turning me to face him. "Maya, look at me."
Reluctantly, I meet his gaze. There's no regret there, no awkwardness, just warmth and something deeper that I'm afraid to name.
"I don't regret last night," he says firmly. "Not for a second. Do you?"
