The room was a haze of heat and tangled sheets, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desire. you gasped, your nails digging into Josh’s back as he drove into you, their bodies moving in a rhythm that neither of them had ever quite perfected with anyone else. You were moaning his name, your body arching into his like you belonged there.

And maybe you did.

But that nagging feeling—sharp, cold, and unrelenting—still sat heavy in his chest. It had never left, not really.

You had stolen from him.

You had looked him in the eye, loved him, kissed him, and still took what was his.

Josh had forgiven you. At least, that’s what he had told you that night when you had sobbed in his arms, shaking, begging for absolution. He had hushed you, kissed your temple, and whispered the words you had wanted to hear. I forgive you.

But it was a lie.

He never forgot. Never truly forgave. He had only said the words because he couldn’t stand your tears, couldn’t bear to see you break.

But now—now he wanted you to know.

He pressed his mouth to your throat, nipping at the delicate skin, feeling you shudder beneath him as they neared the edge. You whimpered, your hands fisting into the sheets, and he could feel you getting lost in it, in him.

Perfect.

Josh let his lips graze your ear, voice rough, hushed.

"Remember when I said I forgave you?"

You barely had a second to process the words before he thrust into you one last time, stealing your breath, your release, your moment.

He felt your body go rigid beneath him.

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a frown.

"I lied."