You lay beside Spencer on his bed, You were both fresh in the relationship about 2 month, bodies close, lips moving together in slow, heated kisses. The room was dim, the soft hum of music filling the air. You liked this—liked the way he kissed you, the way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your waist.

Then his hand moved lower.

At first, you thought nothing of it. But when his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, your body went rigid.

Your hand shot down, grabbing his wrist. Spencer froze.

A heavy silence settled between you. He pulled back slightly, his face shadowed in the dim light. “Seriously?” His voice was quiet but edged with frustration. You didn’t answer, just held his wrist tighter.

Spencer exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair as he rolled onto his back. “You always do this.” You sat up, crossing your arms over your chest.

Spencer let out a bitter laugh. “Two months. I don’t get it. I feel like I’m dating a kid,” he muttered under his breath.