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Though as I say it, I feel quite sure that every hungry cell in my rigid body is cursing me to the high heavens for being such a pleasure-depriving fuckwad towards it, and while I wait for him to respond, all I can think about is the firm stroke of his hands up and down my back and how desperately I want him to work the painful knots out of my tightly wound body.
But I can’t…
I don’t know him that well.
I’d be alone in there.
Vulnerable.
It’s too reckless.
Dangerous, maybe?
The second I said “random men”, his face hardened into granite, as if the words were an insult.
I guess they were a bit below the belt. I do kind of know him, after all, but I have to stand my ground no matter how much the part of my inner goddess that never got on board with the whole chastity vow in the first place, is verbally flogging me for not allowing a man such as this to give me some urgently needed bodily therapy.
“Look, sorry. I appreciate the offer but I’m gonna have to say no.”
“Why?”
“You know why. Or at least, you would if you were a woman.”
“You feel unsafe around me?”
I shake my head, realizing that in reality, I don’t. “No. It’s not that. It’s just… it’s for the best.”
“Your body looks tense, Indie. You shouldn’t have to inhabit a body in which you feel uncomfortable.”
“I am tense! You make me tense!”
“Fine. If it’s my fault, I should remedy that.”
“Look, I already told you I’m on this divine feminine retreat thing. I’ve taken a vow of chastity, if you can wrap your emotionally stunted male brain around that concept.”
His tall frame stiffens as he leans into me, eyes severe but bearing a shimmering glint in the moonlight.
“I’m not offering to have sex with you, Indigo. Apart from the fact that I don’t believe that you’ve earned that right yet, and when it does happen”—he narrows his moody eyes at me most unapologetically—“it will be because you havebeggedfor me, and for no other reason”—my mouth pops open as I try to control my breathing—“I respect the vow you made, and your boundaries. I want to give your body pleasure. That’s all.”
Still struck dumb by the “you’re going to beg me” remark that’s rattling around my increasingly primitive brain, I take a ridiculously long moment to speak while acutely aware that there is no way in hell he can’t see the flush of pink spreading across my cheeks. Hell, you can probably spot it from space at this point. A sort of bright red libido signpost that his intelligent eyes are wandering over.
I clear my throat, making his lips curve up just a little at the corners. “Um… Thanks for that PSA, but I…”
God Indie, I’ll slap you if you say no, I hear from my aching innards.
“You’ve had a rough time of it. You’re clearly stressed. I want to do something about it.”
His words are like the snap of an elastic band on my skin. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like… some problem case. Some thing that needs repairing. We all go through shit in life. I’m not some fragile little doll. I don’t want to be treated like some trauma victim just because you overheard that conversation. You don’t have to tiptoe around me, or offer to fix me. I honestly preferred it when you were an asshole.”
“He hasn’t retired,” he deadpans, and I can’t stop myself from cracking into a grin.
“You know what I mean,” I finally say, collecting myself.
“Open the door, Indie. Let me in.”
