He etches his touch up the full length of my arm sending ripples and sparks through me, before gripping my wrist, holding my eyes, andkissing.
Surges of want rattle me.
But do I want him because I think he wants me? Or do I justwanthim on my own? Or…horribly…do I want him because I needsomebody? Anybody.
If I’m not sure, he says the answer isno.
It’s hard to sayno, when he’s looking at me like this.
But I am unsure what I want right now. And I’m scared to ask formorefrom the person who has given me the most in my entire life.
So I squeeze my eyes shut, gather my sense, and whisper, “Escort me to my room…please.”
His touch falls from me; I feel the loss integrally. Then his weight abandons the mattress around me. Gently, he pulls me up, helping me to my feet, and takes me back to my room.
Without his touch on me, it is no easier to breathe, and I am no less confused about what I want, but there is something so beautiful in the way I saidno, and he listened. Without complaint. Without compromise. I saidno, and he bowed his head, letting his nose graze the ink on my wrist.
I turned him down, and he still said, “I’m proud of you, cupcake. Sleep well.”
