“If we dated—” Marshall paused, dragging his tongue across the front of his teeth. “I would want to do this more.”
“Have dinner?” It was an attempt at a joke that fell painfully flat. My nerves were fucking flayed.
“I would want to choose our meals,” he said thoughtfully, ignoring the failed tease. “It would be my responsibility to make sure you ate enough, that you got enough sleep.”
“I’m twenty-five,” I reminded him. “Not five.”
He nodded. “And yet.”
“And yet,” I repeated.
I looked down at my hands, fingers tangled together in my lap, and the absurdity of not knowing what to do with my hands was laughable. I’d been on dates before. I’d scened before. Marshall had already been inside of me, so why did this conversation feel so glaringly intimate and exposing?
“I don’t want to strip you of your free will,” he said next. “I quite enjoy seeing what you do on your own, but I do want that responsibility, Silas.”
“It’s ownership,” I rasped.
“Yes.”
“Is it both or nothing?” I asked.
Marshall’s tongue still worked across the front of his teeth, and he made a small sucking sound before he pinched his lips together to quiet the noise.
“What if I said yes?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about it bothers you?” he asked next. “Why is it okay in the bedroom but not out of it?”
“I have a life, Marshall.” I brought my hands up to the edge of the counter and pressed my palms flat against the cool marble. The temperature change worked quickly to reduce my anxiety over the conversation, and my shoulders sagged in relief.
“Of course you do. I don’t want to change that.”
“How, then?”
“If you have a bad day at work with your dad, Silas, I wantto know about it so I can make sure you take care of yourself afterward. So I can tell you to take a shower, or go to dinner with Lincoln, or come to my house and let me take care of you. I don’t want you to hole yourself up. I don’t want you to be alone,” he said, and it all sounded so nice.
It sounded so fucking nice.
“Are you worried I’m going to take you away from your life?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never done this before.”
“This might be odd for me to say, all things considered, but I believe you’re overthinking this one a little.” Marshall let out a small chuckle, then climbed off the stool, smoothing his hands down the front of his slacks to ease away any wrinkles. “Put the dishes in the sink, Silas, then join me in the bedroom. We can talk more there.”
My legs moved on their own, getting me upright while I watched Marshall disappear from my sight. I stacked the empty plates and silverware, carried it all to the sink and rinsed them off. I ran some water through the empty wine glasses wishing I’d had more than a few sips while also understanding the reason for it. I dried my hands on a navy blue dish towel, then headed for the bedroom.
Marshall sat at the foot of the bed, his forearms resting on his knees. When I walked in, he looked up at me, one brow arched in an unspoken question. I gave the room a quick onceover, finding the bolts in his bed frame still in place, the sheets just as clean and white as they had been the first time I stepped into the room. Nothing was out of place, everything was in order, and in that moment, everything made sense.
“I don’t want you to think I don’t want to do it,” I blurted, flipping my hands upside down and sliding them around the back of my neck until my fingers joined together in my hairline. “I just haven’t done it before.”
“Would it be easier for you if we start without it? If we integrate it slowly.”
“I’m not sure.” My cheeks burned, but I was focused on not hiding from this man.
“You did so well already tonight. You came over, you ate, you cleaned. It’s not so bad, is it?” He straightened up, squared his shoulders.
I shook my head. “It wasn’t bad at all.”
