The thing was, she was right. She was right and it was so, so much louder than everything else in his head. Maybe there was someway, somehow that he could fight her, but with her hand on his waistband, why would he want to? Much grabbed her wrist as she leaned closer, eyes on her mouth and her addictive scent in his nose. "Are you going to make it good again? Like it was?" Oh please. He felt pathetic (he knew he was pathetic) thinking this but— oh please. Please let it be like it had been—