Anthony's eyes widened. He just sat there on the couch, watching as I hurriedly put my dress back on.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked quietly.
It was the first time I'd heard him sound like that—his voice carrying a fragile edge, almost... afraid.
"Did I hurt you?"
I froze, then turned to face him. His eyes had darkened, fixed on my waist. Though still clouded with lingering desire, a flash of fear passed through them.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
I bit my tongue and sat beside him quickly. He needed to know this wasn't his fault.
"It's not you," I whispered. "It's not your fault."
He finally looked into my eyes. My shoulders dropped. Oh God… had I just hurt him? He looked so exposed, so unsure. Maybe I shouldn't have pushed him away like that.
"Then why did you pull away from me?" he asked, gently, like he was trying not to break whatever thread was holding us together. He still hoped he hadn't crossed a line.
