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The thought fills me with feminine power.
"You let guys feel you up?" Envy drips into his voice.
I stare into his eyes. "Sometimes."
He stares back. "You let them touch your cunt?"
"What?" My cheeks flush. The salesgirl is only a dozen feet away. She's talking to another customer. Did she hear? Did both of them?
"You let guys stroke you to orgasm?"
"That isn't the word you used."
He wraps his hand around my wrist and leads me to the escalator. "It made you flinch."
"No."
"Yeah."
"No." I make eye contact through the mirrored wall. We look like opposites the way we always do—dark and masculine versus light and girly. But we look good together. "It didn't faze me at all."
He raises a brow. Breaks our mirror eye contact to turn to me. "Really?"
"Really." In theory.
Brendon leans in to whisper. He combs my hair back, behind my ear. "Then say it."
I move onto the next step. Then onto the second-floor tile. There's nothing but clothes here.
I turn and step onto the next up escalator.
Brendon follows. It's just us, on the way to the third floor.
"I, uh... do you always use that word?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"It's so vulgar."
"There's a power in vulgar. You're a writer. I'm sure I don't have to explain it to you."
"Right." It is a powerful word. I can't deny that. "It doesn't bother me."
"Bullshit."
"It doesn't."
He lets out a low chuckle. "Then say it."
"I can."
"Go ahead."
I step onto the third floor. Look around. No one nearby.
Okay. I can do this.
I can totally do this.
