He grips my hip for a moment. My heart thumps in my chest. A second later, his hand retreats, and he walks towards the door.
“Here I go!” He calls out. “Off to kill someone.”
“Stop!” I yell out.
“Huh? What was that?” He calls out when I damn well know he heard me.
“Soren,” I groan.
“Wow, if only someone could stop me,” he says. I run into the foyer to see him leaning half out the front door. He’s either trying to convince me to go with him or trying to get me to offer him another blow job.
“Shit,” I hiss. I guess it was time to have an embarrassing conversation.
“What was that?” He asks, leaning back in through the door.
“Did it help last time when I got you off?” I ask. He immediately comes back into the house, slams the door, and locks it.
“Yes,” he says seriously. I swallow thickly and back up into the living room.
“Come sit in here,” I say. A second later, he’s at my back. His hand settles on my hip, ghosting over the same place he’d touched in the office.
“I was being obvious, wasn’t I?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
“I really do want to kill.” His breath ghosts over my neck. I’m afraid he’s going to kiss me.
“So why aren’t you gone?” I ask.
“Because my therapist has convincing arguments for why I shouldn’t.” His chuckle rolls up my spine. I point to the couch. Soren sits down, spreading his legs wide as he watches me step between them.
“I’ve been putting off this conversation.”
“What conversation?”
“What I’m willing to do and what I’m not. How this situation is going to work.”
“Okay,” he says, eyes wide.
“This is a professional agreement.”
“Very professional,” he jokes.
“I’m serious, Soren.” His smile drops. He shrugs off humor and mimics my seriousness. A flick of a switch is all it takes for him to change his tone. I mindlessly twist the ring on my finger as I try to think of the least embarrassing way to phrase it.
“I want to help you maintain. I want you to keep functioning well.”
“Okay.”
“Not sex, though,” I say before dropping to my knees. He grabs my hands before I can pull his zipper down.
“That’s not going to work for me.”
“What?” I ask. “What part?” My heart pounds in my chest. Does he want to have sex? I can barely look in his intense, icy eyes as I wait for his response.
“This helps,” he says. His fingers slide under my chin, lifting my face so that I’m looking at him. His thumb drags across my bottom lip, and I swallow thickly.
“Good,” I whisper.
