Page 58 of Sexting the Pakhan
The honesty hits low in my stomach.
“Then what are you thinking about?”
“You don’t want that answer.”
“I’m tired of men deciding what I want.”
For a moment, his expression hardens, but not at me. At himself maybe. At the whole impossible situation. Then he takes one step closer, slow enough that I have time to move away.
I don’t.
“You lost your job today,” he says.
“I know.”
“You’ve had wine.”
“Two glasses.”
“You’re scared.”
“Yes.”
“And angry.”
“Yes.”
His voice drops. “I’m trying not to be the worst thing that happened to you this week.”
The words hit me so hard I almost look away.
Almost.
Instead, I step closer. “Then stop making every choice for me.”
He doesn’t move. “I’m not.”
“You are. Even now. You’re deciding I don’t mean this because my life is falling apart.”
“I’m deciding that if I touch you, I want you to be sure tomorrow.”
“I will be.”
His eyes hold mine. “You don’t know that.”
“No,” I say. “But I know I want you to kiss me right now.”
The air between us changes. His breathing stays even, but something in him tightens. I see it in his shoulders, his mouth, the way his hand curls once at his side and then stills.
“Zoya.”
“No.” My voice shakes, but I keep going. “Don’t say my name like a warning. I’m standing here. I’m telling you. I want you to kiss me.”
He looks at me for a long second.
Then he says, “Come here.”
I should be embarrassed by how quickly I obey.
