“Why don’t you ask?” he suggested, bunching the fabric higher as he lowered his face, kissing above my knee as he kept his eyes on me.
“Arkady—”
“Tell me, what do you like?”
“What do I like?”
His lingering hands froze, looking up at me more directly to meet my expression. “Yes, what do you like?”
I glanced away, shifting again. I wasn’t sure if it was the pressure of the position or the question.
“You’ve never been asked before, have you.” It was a question, but his tone was not. “What does sex look like to you?”
I couldn’t help a laugh, shaking my head. “Do you think I am a child? I know what sex looks like.”
“Not a child, no, but I think we have very different ideas of what it is.”
“I’m not comfortable telling you what I think it is.”
“Then allow me to tell you what it looks like to me,” he said, pushing my knees apart.
“Wait—” I grabbed his hands, but from the way he looked at me, I knew he felt me shaking.
“When I think of sex, I think of art.” He used a single hand on my chest to bow me in the chair. “It must be balanced, it must be tangible, and above all else, it must be a conversation: verbal as much as it is silent.”
I listened to him, relaxing slightly against his hand. “Then what do you want from me?”
“Tell me how you like to be touched.” He played with the lace decorating the top of my stocking. “But that would also mean you have to say what youdislike.”
I considered it a moment. Whatever benefit he got from this game was unknown to me, as was the reward for asking me these things. Just him kneeling before me with eager eyes and hands made my gut twist, but I didn’t know for what. There was nothing particularly salacious happening. He wasn’t doing anything taboo or out of the ordinary. So why did all this make me feel so faint? A dizzying spell had captured me from head to toe just waiting here. The worst part was that he had barely done anything at all, just left me swimming with insinuations, with questions. I didn’t know what other types of sex there were, for a man, at least, but any attention from him at all was setting me on fire.
“Pick a word.”
“Pardon?” I raised a brow at his demand.
“Pick a word,” he said, “and it will be our secret word. If you do as little as whisper it, I will stop.”
I snorted when I laughed. “What a ridiculous request.”
“How about ‘apricot’?” he suggested. “Seems to be something you’ll remember, since you don’t seem to be able to say no to any of my musings.”
“Fine.” I nodded, moving my hands away from him. “I will play your silly game.”
He cupped both of his hands under my hips, pulling me toward the end of the chair.
The back of my head dragged down the backrest from the sudden pull, and I gripped the wooden arms from the jolt.
His hand smoothed down one of my legs to lift it over his shoulder, pushing the rest of my robe away.
He peered up at me with a smirk, raising a brow.
I shifted in place, confused. “Aren’t you going to do it?”
“Do what?” he asked innocently.
I bit my lip.Does he really expect me to say it?I shook my head.
“Then I won’t do anything.”
