He raised his chin a fraction. “When did you have your first orgasm? When did you start menstruating? What event made you cry hardest? I want to know what you’re afraid of, what you fantasize about. I want to know what you think about when you can’t sleep. I want to know what makes you relax, what pisses you off, what cheers you up. Facts and dates are great, baby, but they’re for small talk in the doctor’s waiting room. You don’t want me close enough to know the most intimate and private things about you… then I’m not interested.”
Leaving the couch, he went to the bar to refill the glass she hadn’t noticed was empty. Stunned, Shyla had difficulty processing. One thing she couldn’t fail to process was his last sentence.
Leaping to her feet, she rushed over just as he put the scotch bottle down to replace the cap.
“You were there for the most embarrassing night of my life,” she said, standing so close to his side that her breasts almost touched him when he began to gulp the liquor she could barely sip. “And the only thing I’ve fantasized about recently is you.”
Gasping in a breath, she sealed her lips by sucking them into her mouth again. When he angled his head to look at her, there was such feral satisfaction in his eyes that blinking was the only response she could come up with.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he purred. “Start talking.”
“I…” Pushing her linked fingers towards the floor, she feared her panic had led him to believe she was braver than she actually was. “I’ve never talked about… my fantasies with anyone.”
Curling a finger under her chin, he urged her head back so she’d look at him. “I don’t want to be just anyone, Shy.” He didn’t tell her that in anything close to a sweet or gentle tone. He was vehement, almost angry in his tone. “You want me to tell you how I’ve dreamt about bending you over every piece of furniture in this condo and sinking my cock into you? Would that make you feel better about sharing?” Putting down his glass, he kept his finger under her chin and started walking, forcing her backwards one slow step at a time. “Maybe you wanna hear about how I jerk off in the shower, just minutes before I come through to the kitchen and look into those emeralds of yours.” Sucking her lip harder, Shyla didn’t dare move her gaze; she was too mesmerized by the depth of his brown eyes drilling into her. She came up against the second hallway wall hard. When she stopped, he did too. Their bodies didn’t touch, but his finger kept going, gliding down her neck to her throat and descending toward her cleavage, where it stopped just short. “You want me to tell you how I’ve dreamt about possessing this body? About owning you? About dominating you? How I decided that night you lay helpless and vulnerable before me that I was one day going to be the only man allowed even close to that fuckable body… You’re transparent, pristine… uncorrupted in a world I was through with.” The curiosity in his gaze drew her deeper. “Can I take what I want from you?”
“Yes,” she said without even pausing for a heartbeat. “Yes, please.”
Assuming he’d kiss her, she tried to reach for him, but he backed off, coming up against the opposite wall.
“Not sex, Shy. Sex is the easiest thing in the world. We could do it and be just like every other relationship either of us ever had. I want to know if you can be something else.”
She couldn’t be anything other than herself, but was more worried about what he’d said about her other relationships. Her previous relationships equaled exactly nil. It didn’t feel like the time to dwell on that truth. Score had shared with her, so she felt it was right to reciprocate.
Though she tried to flatten her hands on the wall, they didn’t stay put. In their need to fidget, they slid toward each other to tangle at her back, meaning her hips rose from the wall.
“I… I dream about what it would be like to lie with you,” she whispered, unable to look at him. “About what it might be like to wake up next to you instead of in the next room.”
“Not sex?”
A smile twisted her lips as her fingers coiled tighter around each other. She caught a glimpse up at him. “I’ve thought about that too.”
Pushing off his wall, he loomed over her, planting a forearm high above her head to support his weight. With that anchor, his body didn’t come into contact with hers. “Tell me.”
“I’ve thought about kissing you,” she said, twining and loosening her fingers, her body rocking in time with that toying. “About what it might be like to…”
“To what, Shy?”
“To be allowed to touch you,” she confessed, even though the mortification made her dry lips crack. “Sometimes when you’re eating, I think about how I’d like to let you taste from my fingers or how I’d like to…”
His voice grew softer though there was an unfamiliar rasp to it. “Don’t stop, baby.”
“Feed you,” she mumbled, squeezing her fingers tight.
“Keep talking.”
Something about just releasing the words into the air caused her skin to prickle. “I want to touch you under the table… Like that time you told me to sit and eat when Beeks and Fish were here. Your knee brushed mine under the table… I wanted… I thought for a minute you might have meant it.”
“I did.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
At dinner, Score always sat at the head of the table. On that particular night, he’d ordered her
