"Neither did you. Not really." I shift slightly in his lap, acutely aware of the hardness beneath me. "The mandate, I mean. You're as trapped as I am."
"Not the same."
"Maybe not. But we're both stuck here." I take a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "And the thing is... I've been alone for a really long time. Not just single, butalone. My parents moved to Florida two years ago. My friends are all busy with their own lives. My job is fine but not fulfilling. And dating has been this endless cycle of disappointment and awkward encounters and men who make me feel worse about myself instead of better."
"Do I make you feel better?" There's something almost vulnerable in the way he asks.
"Yes." The word comes out sure and steady. "You're terrifying and dangerous and you've upended my entire life. But when you look at me, I don't feel invisible. When you touch me, I don't feel like an obligation. And when you kiss me..."
I trail off, heat flooding my face again.
"When I kiss you?" he prompts, his voice going lower.
"I feel wanted." The admission makes me want to hide, but I force myself to hold his gaze. "Really wanted. Not just because I'm convenient or available or willing to settle. But because youactually wantme. Which is weird because you don’t know me, not really."
"I do want you." His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb stroking along my cheekbone. "More than I should, considering the circumstances."
"Why shouldn't you?"
"Because you deserve better than this. Better than being forced into a marriage you never asked for just so you can stay alive."
"Maybe." I lean into his touch without meaning to. "But that's not the reality, is it? The reality is I'm here. You're here. And we both have to figure out how to make this work."
"And how do you want to make it work?" His eyes are intense on mine.
I take a shaky breath. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life being afraid. I don't want to spend it feeling like a prisoner or a transaction. If I'm going to do this, if I'm going to be your wife and have your baby, I want..."
"What, Florrie? Tell me and I’ll make it happen."
"I want it to feel good." The words come out barely above a whisper. "I want to feel wanted and safe and like this is something I'm choosing instead of something being done to me."
Understanding flashes across his face, followed by heat that makes my stomach clench.
"You want control," he says.
"Yes. No. I don't know." I press my hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat accelerate under my palm. "I just know that when you kissed me last night in the warehouse, it was the first time I felt anything real in a long time. And right now, sitting here with you, I feel..."
"Feel what?"
I gather my courage. "I feel like I want you to kiss me again."
His jaw tightens. "Florrie—"
"I know what you said last night. About waiting until I'm ready. About not taking me to bed until I want you there." I shift in his lap deliberately, feeling him grow larger beneath me. "What if I'm ready now? What if I want this?"
"You're sure?" His voice is strained. "Because once we start down this road—"
"I know." I lean closer, my lips almost brushing his. "I know what it means. I know where this leads. And I'm choosing it anyway. I'm choosing you and praying you choose me back every day, even after you get to know me…"
Something breaks in his expression. The control he's been maintaining cracks, and suddenly his mouth is on mine, hot and demanding and absolutely perfect.
This kiss is different from the tentative exploration last night before I fell asleep. This is hunger and need and a promise of things to come.
His hand tangles in my hair, angling my head exactly where he wants it. His other hand slides up my spine, pressing me closer until there's no space between us.
I kiss him back with everything I have, pouring all my fear and confusion and unexpected want into it.
When he pulls back, we're both breathing hard.
