Page 44 of For Her Own Good

His lips part and he seems to stop breathing.

“And see, that’s good for me to know. I’m not going to treat you like some kind of porcelain figurine if you’d rather be…”

“Manhandled.”

“Aye, that.”

“But?”

“But I need to know. So, perhaps before this goes any further, we could talk? About the things you like and the things you don’t? If you want to take this slow—”

“I don’t.”

It’s his turn to laugh, his entire torso vibrating with it, and I’m pretty proud of myself. I like making him laugh.

“Noted. I’m not particularly inclined to take things slow myself given how long I’ve waited for this, but whatever you want, I’ll be respectful of your wishes.”

How long he’s waited? How long has he waited? What, like a few months? I’ve been waiting for almost twenty years, but sure, several months is the absolute same. I won’t be petty about that now, though. Maybe later.

“And what about your wishes? Don’t those count at all?”

“Aye, course they do, but…”

“I swear to god if you pull some weaker sex bullshit, I’m going to headbutt you.”

“I would never. But I suspect my appetite for you is basically insatiable, so I’m going to have to rely on your better sense to reel me in.”

“The assumption that I have better sense is, well, questionable at best.”

“Be that as it may, I think we should talk. Because of consent and all that good stuff. And probably not in your bed because the odds of me getting distracted by you if we stay here are approximately one hundred percent.”

I roll my eyes, faking exasperation. “Fine. Under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

He kisses just below my ear and it makes me shiver. Perhaps I should have insisted upon multiple conditions. But hopefully we’ll get this done blip-bloppity-bloop and then the making out can start again. And then beyond making out.

“You manhandle me over to the couch.”

He answers me with a bite to my earlobe and now Ireallyregret not making more demands.

“Deal.”

Then he’s scooping me up, and I have to cling to him. Gee, darn. Super hate having to wrap my limbs around him and hold on for dear life while he’s carrying me across my apartment. I’m only too happy when he sits, with me landing in his lap. I was worried he was going to make me sit on the opposite side from him so we could do this properly, whatever that means. This is better, way better. A straddle is not my favorite way to be in a man’s lap, but I will take this for sure. Particularly when his hands land on my waist and it’s only seconds before they drift down to my hips and his fingers skim over the curve of my butt to rest on my thighs, right between my stockings and my shorts.

“Will you be insulted if I say you look very cute?”

I roll my lips between my teeth and shake my head. “No. I like looking cute. I would only be insulted if you said it in a condescending way while patting my head. Don’t get me wrong, I like to be petted but that’s different from patting.”

He cocks his head.

“What? There’s a goddamndistinction.”

He laughs again and the resulting smile lingers. “What’s that exactly?”

“Why don’t you try it and see? I’ll tell you which one you’re doing. Here…”

I pull the elastic from my hair because while perfectly sufficient patting can be achieved with a messy bun, any petting that results would be subpar.

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