He lifts his hand and steps back.
“Elevated heartrate, 109 BPM at first contact. Cortisol marginally increased. Subject reports embarrassment and anticipatory arousal.”
“Okay,” I say. “So…what next?”
“Without the glove,” he says. “Touch to bare forearm?—”
My pulse spikes again.
Jesus, Lyn.
“Was that another crest?” he asks. “Are you experiencing an arousal reaction…?”
“No, I’m justnervous, okay?” I repeat. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He shakes his head and lets out a low chuckle.
“Trial #2,” he says. “Direct skin to skin contact through clothing. Location: shoulder. I will hold a duration of three seconds.”
He steps back to pull the glove off, and…I shudder? Like a fucking idiot? I watch the latex peel away from his palm, then from his knuckles, his fingers…his long, dexterous fingers. It’s like my vision zooms in on his fingertips in HD, finding all the little scars, the lines, the glimmer of turquoise sheen where his hands got warm?—
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I snap my eyes up to his.
“Yes,” I say. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Alright,” he says. “Initiating contact…”
He reaches forward and touches my arm.
And I…
It’s better than a vibrator. It’s better than the rabbit, better than Orin going down on me, better than…oh god. Ohgod, yes, this is what I needed, this is what I?—
He stops.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
“Heart rate one-forty-two,” he says. “Neural activity spiking across somatosensory and limbic regions. Pleasure cascade initiated in under two seconds.”
“Under two seconds?” I rasp. “Holy shit.”
“Language, Walker.”
“Sorry.”
“We need to be very clear about what we’re doing next,” he says. “The data suggests that skin-to-skin contact is the trigger. Duration increases intensity. Location likely matters.”
“So what’s the next variable?” I ask.
He frowns. “...extended contact. Same location?”
I bite my lip. “Can I be honest with you?”
“You should—for scientific rigor.”
I bark out a rough laugh. “Okay,” I say. “I uh…same location is fine, but other location would be more fun.”
