Page 200 of A Taste of Vanilla

“Mostly is a respectable amount of fine.”

He closes my laptop.

“Are we done with financials?” I ask.

“For tonight.”

“Because we completed the review?”

“No.”

“Because you’re worried I’ll buy more ribbon?”

“I know you will.”

I smile, but he does not.

His eyes are still on my face, moving over me in that careful way he does. Not like he’s undressing me, although there’s room for that too. But like he’s checking for pain I haven’t admitted to yet.

I sit up fully and fold my legs underneath me. “You’re staring.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I’m trying to be honest about what I want.”

My pulse thrums heavily.

“What do you want?”

He exhales through his nose.

“You.”

It’s one word. Just one want, placed carefully between us.

My whole body answers. I hate how fast it happens. The heat, the clench, the memory of his mouth, and the awful, tender rush of being wanted by someone who doesn’t make me feel like wanting is a performance he deserves applause for enduring.

I crawl toward him before I can overthink it.

His pupils dilate. “Halston.”

I stop close enough that my knees brush his thigh. “Yes?”

“Are you sore?”

I almost laugh, but realize that he’s genuinely asking.

“A little,” I admit.

“Where?”

My face warms. “Warren.”

“Where, Hal?”

The question isn’t dirty. Not this time. It’s soft and careful. The kind of intimate that reaches places his hands have not.