“It’s not something I learned how to do.”
“What isn’t?”
“Love somebody and be loved.”
That hurts my heart. “People love you, Dice. And you love them back. It may not be that romantic kind, but it’s still love. Still real.”
“I guess.”
“Is that why you don’t do relationships?”
“That’s part of it.” His hands move leisurely across my shoulders and down my arms, scooping water over them. “Growing up, I hid the shit at home behind humor. Made it look like I was just fine. Like I was this happy-go-lucky dude without a care. I got good at it. The performance. Being the smooth player. No real emotions. Nothing that touched me. But…”
“But what?”
“The game gets tired,” he admits. “Starts to feel empty. Meaningless. This… with you… it’s the first time I’ve had sex with someone I actually care about. It hits different.”
“I know what you mean. The hookup scene’s… transactional. Being with someone you like—in and out of bed—that’s rare. Nice.” I exhale. “I think I always saw independence and relationships as opposing forces. I felt stifled by Maurice. Vowed no man would ever squash my spirit or control me again.”
“The right man wouldn’t,” he says with quiet conviction. “He’d love and accept all of you. You’d just have to give him the chance.”
That lands hard in my chest. It’s been an emotional night. He’s been at his most vulnerable. We shared a bottle of wine. We’re soaking in a hot tub under a star-filled sky, wrapped in heat and soft feelings, holding on to each other and the time we have left. It’s the kind of moment fraught for saying things you might regret in the light of day.
Later, after we’ve showered off the chlorine, I lather myselfin body butter—peaches and cream—and slip into a short black nightie that’s sheer except for lace flowers placed on the nipples.
Dice looks me over with heated appreciation, his cock tenting the towel wrapped around his waist. “I was going to behave myself tonight and suggest we watch a movie.”
“I can change, if you prefer.”
“That wouldn’t help. I want you no matter what you’re wearing. But this, Web…” He slides the thin shoulder strap between his fingers. “This doesn’t give me a fighting chance.”
“Why do you need to fight it?”
“It’s just been an unexpected night.”
“Do you regret telling me?”
“No.”
Is that true? Or just the mask he’s always worn? Cool. Unbothered. Laid-back. When he’s really questioning everything. Wondering if he said too much. Wondering if I could know the truth and still want him.
Since physical touch is one of his love languages, I slip my arms around his waist and press a kiss to his chest. “We don’t have to do anything. I just want you to know that nothing you told me changes how much I want you. So, if that’s what you’re fighting against… don’t.”
“Lot,” he murmurs. “It’s not just that. It’s… it feels like I’ve wanted you forever. And now that you’re leaving, I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to let you go.”
“I don’t know how to let you go either.” I push him gently onto the bed, sliding over him, aligning our bodies. “But we have right now.”
He holds me close, and I kiss him. His lips part beneath mine. I feel him exhale in a soft explosion before he fists his hands in my locs and angles my head to take control of the kiss with a hunger that quickly burns me up. He presses his thick erection between my legs, and I rock against him until his sounds are rough and ragged.
“You just have to touch me, and I’m wrecked.”
I reach between us and stroke him, slow and easy.
“Have you been tested?” I ask.
“Yes,” he hisses as I continue to jerk him up and down. “I’m clean. I always use condoms.”
“Me too. I… I have an IUD.” I look at him, bold and certain. “I want to feel you bare. Just you. Inside me.”
