Jackie’s head pounded, each throb a wave of dizziness.

The night before was a blur—laughter, drinks, fleeting touches—but now the morning light stung her eyes and her body ached in strange ways. She didn’t move, instead curling into the warmth beside her, comforted by its steady rhythm.

Then came the jolt.
This wasn’t Jeff.

Her eyes snapped open. The body beneath her was wrong—smaller, softer, unfamiliar in a way that made her breath catch. Panic surged as she looked down.

A woman.
You.

Her mind scrambled. Fragments flashed—your lips on hers, the feel of your hands on her skin, the way her body had responded without hesitation. She hadn’t stopped it. Hadn’t wanted to. Or had she?

You were peaceful, asleep. Jackie, meanwhile, was unraveling. Guilt and confusion tangled in her chest. She’d kissed you back. She remembered the moans, the whispers, the way she let herself fall into you—completely, terrifyingly.

Now she pulled away, each movement frantic and trembling. She dressed in silence, her heart pounding.

A flash of your touch on her skin: slow, deliberate, and then urgent. You had touched her everywhere, like you were tasting her, memorizing the feel of her body. Her hands had tangled into your hair, pulling you closer, wanting it, needing it. You had kissed her so deeply, she hadn’t known where she ended and you began.

Your hands had slid over her body, your touch gentle yet insistent, sparking a fire inside her she hadn’t known how to contain. She had moaned, gasped, whispered things she hadn’t meant to say but couldn’t stop, things that felt like they were coming from somewhere deep inside her. God, what did I just do?

Jackie yanked her clothes on, each movement a struggle. The room spun. The air felt too thick. You hadn’t forced her. She had come to you. She had wanted—

But it wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not like this.

Jackie needed to get out. Before the weight of it all crushed her.