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“That was a compliment. Now, I could sit here and tell you how amazing you are, but I’d rather hear you say it. It’s obvious you feel passionately about this story, about who these characters are and the story you’re trying to tell.”
“Key word beingtrying.”
“Stop that.”
She looks sheepish. It’s clear to me that she’s using the story to tell her own struggle, but I’m not sure how much it’ll help in the real world. Maybe we need to try a different avenue.
“Apart from this,” I wave the sheets she passed me, “what is something you haven’t had the chance to do yet?” I want to make it happen for her, whatever it is.
Whatever she’s thinking, her cheeks flare red hot. Now I definitely want to know.
“Um, nothing.”
We both know that’s not true.
“Challenge number two, Bee. Would it help if I went first?”
She nods.
Okay. If only I’d thought to redirect the blood flow upward, back to my brain, before I suggested that. Those animal-print shorts are slowly killing me.
And, shit. This is harder than I thought it would be. My need for her is blaring between my ears, drowning out every other possible thought until there’s no room for anything else.
“Sebastian?”
Right. Fuck.
“Sorry.” I chuckle. “My mind went straight to the gutter.”
“Oh,” she says, and bites her lip. This is hell. Literal hell. “That’s okay.”
That’s okay?
I stop. Her gaze holds mine. She wants me to tell her. Fucking Christ. “Do you want to hear my fantasies, Bee?” Because I need to hear her say yes. Need it more than oxygen.
She blushes harder, and her “yes” is a breath eked out between us.
I’m now certain. This is how I die.
And I also need to be extremely careful. Everything about our relationship changes from this moment. Bee isn’t naive, despite her foggy self-image, so I know she wouldn’t agree if she wasn’t on board, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m ready for this.
For what is bound to happen after.
“If I tell you, will you share one of your own? Something you’ve never told anyone else?” This is important. From what I’ve learned in the last few weeks, I’m going to assume the list of what Bee has shared is extremely small. But I still want it. A piece of her to myself. To own a part of her deepest desires, so that any man after me—and it cuts me to even imagine them—will have to concede this to me and only me.
“I promise.”
Great. Now all I have to do is summon any thought that doesn’t involve her.
I’m screwed.
Truthfully, my fantasies used to be a lot more lurid. In my twenties, it was anything from threesomes to blowing my load down a tight throat.
But these days, even the hottest sex I could imagine doesn’t hold a candle to what I really want, which is a partner. And a home.
I rack my brain for something, anything, dirty. Who knows what Bee’s expecting to hear, but “worship the woman who will become my wife,” definitely isn’t it, so I really need my brain and my dick to work together on this one.
A first, I know.
