William’s gaze whips toward mine as if the crack had been audible. He angles his body toward me, posture relaxed. He seems to have recovered from his embarrassing memories and he assesses me through slitted lids. Only inches separate us,but I don’t feel the urge to step away. “I truly am impressed, Weenie.”
I arch a brow. “With what?”
“With your complete lack of fear. It’s reckless, and you’re as stubborn as a weed, but you charge ahead without restraint. You aren’t flustered at all in the north wing. I really was prepared for you to faint at the first sight of a naked body.”
“No, it was lovely! It was like seeing my characters come to life. Studying positions I’ve only ever written about. So badly I wish I’d brought my notebook.”
“Do you always approach sex from such a methodical view?”
I bristle, but there’s no judgment in his tone. My muscles relax as I take in his open expression. “Well, it is my job. Or part of it.”
“Yes, but outside of writing. Do you enjoy physical intimacy? When I first took you out here, you asked if I was feeling too stimulated, but what about you? Does the sight or thought of such acts arouse you? There’s nothing wrong if it doesn’t. I’m just curious.”
I give his question some thought. I realize it must seem strange that everyone else in the north wing was reacting with arousal rather than academic study like me. “I do experience sexual urges if that’s what you’re asking. It’s just easy for me to take myself out of an imagined scenario and look at it from an objective standpoint. When I was studying those couples, I wasn’t imagining myself as part of the act, not even as a viewer. Not until?—”
I swallow my words, horrified at what I was about to confess. It wasn’t until I used William as a prop while trying to replicate that one couple’s position that I entered my imagined scenario. When I met his eyes and saw the placement of my hands, felt the heat of his body, I was fully immersed in the act. My hand in his hair, my fingertips clawed against the base of his scalp, my otherpalm at his waist, pulsing at the flex of his abdomen, the rise and fall of his chest. I thought my heart was going to explode. Even now, as the memory replays in my mind’s eye, my pulse kicks up.
“Right,” William says, and I fear my every thought is plastered on my face. “You mean the satyr.”
I blink at him. “Oh. Oh, yes! The satyr.” He’s right, of course. The satyr’s proposition pulled me into the scenario too, but it wasn’t nearly as arousing.
“Did I overstep by intervening?”
“No, I appreciate that you did. I wasn’t ready for what he was suggesting. I mean, I want to do those things. For research, of course. I thought maybe I should accept his offer, but…” I shudder.
William leans in and places his forefinger under my chin. I freeze at the touch. He lifts my chin slightly until I lock my eyes with his. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Iwantedto?—”
“I’m not talking about logical wants. Don’t do anything that requires convincing.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why? Because simply doing something for the sake of doing it is wrong?”
“No, because you’ll like it more if you do it for the sake of pleasure, not study. You have experienced pleasure, haven’t you?”
I swallow hard, but with him still lifting my chin, the motion is jerky. His line of questioning sparks my stubborn side. “Of course I have.”
“With a partner or just alone?”
“I’ve had partners.”
“But have they given you pleasure?”
My chest heaves. Why does the wordpleasuresound so erotic coming from him? Why does it make me so lightheaded? “I’ve experienced pleasure, Willy.”
“So alone, then. Do you touch yourself?”
“Sometimes.”
He releases my chin, then stands before me. I shift to the side, but now my back is against the balustrade. He leans closer, then braces his hands on the rail on either side of me. “Have you never craved a partner in place of your fingers? Someone who will set your heart racing and make you weep with ecstasy?”
“Those kinds of partners belong in my books.”
“You don’t think the pleasure you write about is attainable off the page? I think you just haven’t found the right person. Maybe Monty was right. Maybe you just need to learn what you like.”
I can’t form a word in reply, not with him standing so close. Not with his head angled to the side as his eyes drop to my lips. Not with the way he lifts his hand from the railing and alights it upon my collarbone. My breaths grow shallow as he sweeps his fingers to the base of my throat, then lowers his palm until his skin is flush with mine. His touch isn’t belligerent or groping, remaining several inches above my cleavage, but it’s not exactly tame either. Should he raise the position of his hand, he’d be clasping my throat. Should he lower it just enough, he’d be cupping my breast.
And yet…I don’t flinch away. Don’t cower. Logic has fled me. Like when I touched him earlier, I’m now fully immersed in this moment, in every sensation, every breath. My pulse thuds against his palm.
