“August?” he murmurs.
I startle. “Hm? Yes? I’m here. Promise.”
Tenderness settles in his gaze, and he dips to kiss my throat, which…doesthings to every part of me. My boss is licking my pulse right now, nibbling, and making egregiously attractive noises. My boss is aboy. And he’s… Gracious. He’s either dyed his hair or committed to wearing a wig because at some point in this insanity, he learned I was into blonds.
And that’s all it took.
He said, “Okay, well then. Let’s make that happen,” and bleached his eyebrows.
A pitiful sound leaves me, and I shiver.
He stops tormenting. “August…you’re worrying me a little bit.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“I’m not certain how to put this…”
I peer at him, pliant, eyes probably dewy and wanting.
“Your body language is suggesting you’d like me to ravish you.”
Whaaat?
A tiny breath leaves me, and I drag my attention off him. “What a totally weird thing for you to say to me.”
“Yes,” he states. “It’s out of character for someone so insistent on our participation in aslow-burn romanceto be behaving like this.” He doesn’t let that stop him from nipping at my ear and whispering, “Why, I bet you’d do anything for me right now, wouldn’t you?”
My heart is not going to be able to take this for much longer.
He’s funny and chaotic and committed. He likes anime. He came all this way for me, dropping everything. He’s calculating and precise and…
Wow.
I…can’t believe this.
He’s nuts, isn’t he? Completely nuts. Just like me. He—Ali, Dominic,allof him—has always met me right where I’m at, matching my energy, vibing with my crazy. For three entire years, he’s responded to my emails promptly. He’s taken everything I’ve ever said to heart. He’s watched every anime I’ve ever recommended. And, presently, he’s playing by my script while he works his way through reading every book I’ve ever written—so he can know me better, so he can find the more perfect picture ofme.
With all ofthatcontext in my brain, I thinkfallingis an understatement.
Three years isn’t a long time, but it’s certainly not no time at all. He’s managed to—through brief messages alone—remain compelling in my brain. I’m excited every time I talk to him. Every time in the past three years that I’ve opened my work account, I’ve hoped for a message or an email from him.
I don’t know what to do with that.
I don’t know where I’d like to take this story now.
I just know that I’m not quite ready to see what might happen if I share the secrets I’ve discovered.
I’m not quite ready to risk hittinghappily ever afterjust in case that peaceful notion mellows what we’re building, and I lose this spark.
But…
But is that fair to him?
Is dragging him along on my whim when IknowI’ve fallen for him fair?
“Are you happy?” I ask, breathless and soft.
“Happy?” He pauses torturing me to pull back. His brows lower. “What do you mean?”
