“I don’t share well,” he finally said, scratching the side of his nostril and chasing the itch with a sniff. “If you’re with me. If you want to be with me. It’s just me.”
“That’s fine,” I rasped.
“Fine?”
“Good,” I corrected. “Preferred.”
“You don’t know a single thing about me,” he said.
He wasn’t wrong, I realized. I knew his name, knew where he lived and worked. I knew he was good with his hands, knew my cock felt good in his fist. But beyond that, Riggs was a closed book, a man I’d spent less than twenty-four hours with in total since the first day I met him.
“I can learn. I want to learn.”
“Dating, then.”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” I said.
I’d never dated a man before. I’d never done anything with a man besides the things I’d done with him and with Lincoln. I faced the very real possibility my dick had gotten me in over my head.
“What do you want to call it?” he bounced the question back to me, the same way I’d done twice to him.
“I just want to be with you more,” I answered. “The way we were on Saturday, the way you want to be after that. I don’t know what that means or how long it lasts. I figured I could get to know you during that. Through it.”
“You’ve got to forgive me, Smith.” Riggs worked his jaw back and forth. “I’m out of practice with this.”
“Nothing to forgive,” I assured him. “I’ve never done it before so I don’t have a basis for comparison.”
“You’ve never had a relationship?”
“Not with a man,” I said.
He nodded, clearing his throat. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve…since I’ve taken the dominant role in the long term. Normally it’s…I just…”
“If it makes you feel any better, like I said, I don’t have anyone to compare you to, and I’ve liked everything so far.”
He smiled then, the first time I’d seen him look relaxed since I’d come over. I stood and went toward him, again wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my forehead against the front of his shoulder.
“I’m overthinking this,” he said next. “I want to do right by you is all.”
“You have,” I said. “You did on Saturday.”
He growled, a low rumble in his throat like he’d somehow forgotten he’d colored my thighs purple and red with this hand less than a week before. Some of the bruises had faded and some had turned yellowish green, especially the ones from the cane. I’d taken great pleasure looking at them in the mirror every day, touching them with my own hands and tracing the outline of his fingers in my skin.
“Show me,” he demanded.
My mouth went dry, tongue stuck to the top of it. I managed a jerky nod of consent and stripped out of my clothes. I kicked everything to the side and stood in front of Riggs naked and already hard for him again.
“Turn around,” he said next, and I did.
He loosed another low rumble of approval at the sight before him, and a shiver danced through me at the sound of it.
“Bend over.”
I hinged at the hips and placed my fingers over the edge of his bed for balance. Riggs took two steps toward me, slowly dancing his fingertips across the small of my back and down over the globes of my ass. He wasn’t touching me hard enough to hurt, barely enough to tease.
“Is there something wrong with me?” I asked no one in particular.
“Why would something be wrong with you?”
