“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, his voice a hoarse rasp. “I couldn’t—fuck, Isabella, I felt like I couldn’t control it.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper breathlessly, barely able to speak after how hard he just fucked me. “It felt—it felt so good. I wanted to cry while you teased me, but in the end—”
Niall stares down at me, kneeling between my legs as he runs one hand through his hair. “Christ, Isabella,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Why?” I whisper, but he’s already moving off of me, disappearing into the bathroom. He brings back a warm cloth, gently holding the inside of my thigh as he cleans the traces of his cum left on me, all the while refusing to meet my eyes. “Why?” I ask again when he comes back, but he doesn’t answer. He climbs into bed, lying on his back as he reaches to switch out the light. I open my mouth to say something else, but before I can, Niall interrupts me.
“Good night, Isabella,” he says with such finality that I know there’s no use in arguing.
Tomorrow, we are going to New York. And after that—
Everything will be over.