“You were about to saygentle,weren’t you?”
His lips rise further, validating my assumption.
The aftertaste of tequila sticks to my tongue, and my head dizzies at the idea of Connor beinganythingbut gentle. I’m not the softest girl, so the image of being handled by a soft, careful boy makes me squirm.
“I promise I’ll be me,” he says, grinning into his next swig of wine.
“It’s a good thing I like you then.” My voice is still icy. The alcohol hasn’t kicked in just yet.
“Likeme? Qu’en est-il de l’amour?”What happened to love?
“You don’t believe in love,” I retort. “So you’ve lost the right for me to love you back.” I nod assuredly at this new stance I’m taking. “But I still like you. Don’t worry.”
“I never worry,” he says. “I do believe in love. When I was a child I thought it wasn’t real, but I’ve come to see that it does exist for some people. Just not me.”
Right. He can’t love anyone. He’s too analytical, I suppose. I’ve come to accept it, but there’s a part of me that wants so badly to be his first love the way he’s mine. His hand keeps descending, gripping my ass above my silk nightgown. I tip the bottle of Patron against my mouth, taking half a shot.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say.
“What’s my favorite position?”
“Yes.”
“I have a lot of favorites.”
“Choose one, Richard,” I snap.
He smiles. “Missionary…with a few alterations.”
“What alterations?”
His lips just curve higher, as if he’s partaking in a personal inside joke. I kind of want to punch him for the smirk, but I also want Connor to kiss me roughly. It’s an odd mixture that’s pounding my head.
At least he doesn’t want me to ride his dick like a sexy dominatrix. I don’t think I could confidently pull that off. It’s not something I’ve ever visualized either. Although when people meet me, I know it’s their first assumption, their firstwild picture. Of me in stilettos, a heel at a man’s throat. All these years, I believed in the stereotype too. That to be a strong, confident woman outside the bedroom, I’d have to be as equally dominant inside. It’s a reason why I rarely brought guys back to my apartment in college. Because I’d disappoint them. And I’d rather shove them out of my door and be called an ice cold bitch than be laughed at for not making good on their fantasies.
We’re all more than we appear to be.
“Truth or dare?” His question pops my thoughts.
“Truth.”
“What’s your strangest fantasy?”
“I change my mind. I choose dare,” I say quickly.
He laughs. “Play by the rules, darling.”
“Dare,” I repeat, not backing down.
“Fine. I’ll let you cheat this once.”
Cheat. That is avileword, but I stay my course.
“I dare you…” His eyes flit around the room before landing back on me. “To answer my question.” He full-on grins.
“You’re terrible,” I deadpan.
“You love me. Even if you won’t say it anymore.”
