So I stand, breathless, and follow him upstairs.
28
SIMA
As we climb upstairs, I keep my stare on Petyr’s back at all times. His broad, firm back with muscles peeking out the collar of his shirt. For as long as I can focus on that, the nerves stay out of sight.
By the time we get to the bedroom, though, I’m a mess.
The door clicks softly shut behind us. Suddenly, the air feels heavier. Thicker. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears, and every inch of my skin is alert, anticipating.
This is it.The night we finally… That.
Which is a stupid thing to panic about. Seriously. We’ve done literally everything else, haven’t we?
But not this,the anxious part of me whispers. The part that’s gone twenty-four years as a virgin, hasn’t seen a dick anywhere but in unsolicited DMs, and has no idea of what to do with it.
Theoretically? All good.
But in practice? Not exactly a whole lot of experience on my résumé.
What if I’m not good at it? What if I grip it wrong and accidentally crack it like a glowstick? What if I freeze up and Petyr thinks I’m one of those cold-fish women who writes grocery lists in their mind while staring at the ceiling?Thrust, buy more bread,thrust, we’re out of orange juice?
What if I snort like a pig when I cum and he gets turned off permanently?
Why do you even care?This isn’t about pleasure. This is a business arrangement. Get married, get knocked up, get out. If he doesn’t like the experience, he can always whip out a turkey baster.
Right. This is about making a baby. Not sex. Or, like—notrealsex. Not sex done for purposes that Sister Margaret would disapprove of. This is one-hundred percent Church-friendly, procreation-driven hanky panky.
But you want it.Heat flashes through my body.You want it to berealsex. You want it to feel good. Just like everything else has felt good so far.
I’m such an idiot. Petyr may not have expectations, but me? I’ve stopped approaching this like it was pure business the second I came around his fingers. There’s no point lying to myself—Iwantit.
I want him.
And that’s fucking terrifying.
“You’re thinking.”
“Huh?” Petyr’s husky voice breaks me out of my spiral of chaos. “I’m…?”
“Thinking,” he repeats. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t what? Think?” I ask, amused despite myself. “Are you worried my delicate womanly brain is going to overheat?”
“Yes.” He closes the distance between us in one smooth step. His big palms settle on my hips. “So turn it off, or I’ll do it for you.”
I know he’s going to kiss me. I know that. Iknowthat.
But when his lips collide with mine, it still lights up every single one of my nerves on fire.
His tongue presses for access. Hot, rough, demanding. My doubts scatter like butterflies. Soon, I don’t have the bandwidth to think at all.
When he pulls back, I’m already breathless.
“Much better,” he says, drinking in the sight of my kiss-bruised mouth.
He walks me back until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I fall onto the mattress, staring up with wide eyes, my gaze hooked to his. His pupils, dark and blown, don’t stop tracking my movements for even a second.
