“Yes. I would.” He would sleep next to her on the floor of course, but he left that part out.
Nikolett’s throat worked, but then she lifted her chin. “Are these from the sex supplies you brought?”
“Yes.”
“You flew to romantic Paris to profess your love and you brought flowers and sex toys?”
“What can I say, I’m a planner.”
“No, you’re not. You go into berserker rages and kill people.”
“I’m a planner when it comes to sex.”
“It’s interesting that?—”
“No, Nikolett.” He cut her off, holding her gaze. “No deflecting.”
She glanced away. “I don’t want to cry anymore,” she finally admitted, voice just above a whisper. “I cried this morning andfor half an hour earlier after the shower. That time, I cried for no reason.”
“There was a reason. Emotional catharsis.”
“I wasn’t sad.”
“Tears don’t have to be sad. Tears are a release. The point of intense sex, especially with some power exchange dynamics, is that emotional catharsis.”
“If I make you orgasm nine times, will you cry?”
“Probably. Because my dick would fall off.”
She laughed, but slowly the smile that accompanied the laugh faded.
“If you don’t want to tell me why you moved with your grandmother when you were twelve, or why you have a hard limit around belts, you don’t have to. We can talk about other things.”
“What things?” she snapped. “Our future? Our marriage? Our jobs?”
His jaw clenched, but he nodded. “If you want.”
“We need to talk about all those things.”
“I agree. And if you want to do it now, we can.”
Nikolett rocked forward and back, just a little, and agitated movement. “We should,” she repeated.
“Then let’s.”
She blinked and a tear fell. Nikolett made a frustrated noise, wiping her cheek on her shoulder. “Damn it, Eric. Why do I cry when I’m with you?”
He scooted over to her, kissing away her tears before shifting to sit beside her once more, careful not to sit on her hand. “I’m hoping it’s good tears now.”
She sighed, leaning her head against the mattress, but didn’t speak.
When he gently laced his fingers with hers, their joined hands resting on the floor between their hips, she squeezed hishand almost desperately. She was poised on some precipice, wracked with tension that she was doing too good a job of hiding.
If she was having trouble being vulnerable, he’d go first. “I had one shitty father and one good father.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Nikolett glanced over at him in surprise.
