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The warmth and softness.

I can’t seem to undo the buckle.

I’m all thumbs.

I’m just⁠—

Off.

And not like before. In some other way. Some way I can’t explain.

He senses my hesitation. Stops. Brings his hand to my cheek. “What’s wrong, Jamie?”

I look into his eyes. I try to find a plausible lie. Or even an agreeable truth.

This is my hour.

We’re pretending. We already agreed.

He doesn’t expect authenticity.

But I do.

What the actual fuck?

That’s it. I’m supposed to the be the one in control.

But he is.

“You’re hesitating,” I say, like it’s not me. Like it’s him.

Realization flares in his eyes. But it’s not about what I just said. It’s something else.

He sees something I don’t.

What?

He runs his hand over my cheek. “I’m sorry, diavolessa. I can’t pretend here.”

But that’s not true. Because he is. He’s hiding something.

Does he know I’m here to kill him?

There’s no way. If he did, he’d tie me up and call his boss and throw me in jail.

He wouldn’t take off his clothes and offer me access to his most sensitive organs.

He’s smarter than that.

I’m the one who thinks with my clit.

He’s practical.

And I⁠—

I—

Fuck, I don’t know.