I shake my head. “Never.”
“Because you are quiet or?” He leaves it hanging there. Expectant. Hopeful.
“Because I don’t come with another person.”
He tilts his head, his brows drawing together as his eyes brighten. “But you can alone?”
I snort. “Clearly.”
“Is it because you feel vulnerable?”
“Gail claims it’s a factor, yes. But I’m not here for an impromptu therapy session. I have her for that.”
“What’s the other factor?”
My hands hit his chest. “Let me up.”
“Someday, you are going to have to let someone in, Eleanor. Someday, you are going to have to stop running from your nightmares.”
“Someday is not today,” I snarl.
He sighs and rises to his feet, shaking his head. “You aren’t fooling me with the cyborg armor. You might have everyone else believing you are an emotionless, unmoved cynic, but not me.”
I jerk to my feet and maintain eye contact. Most people freak out if you stare at them, backing down after a moment. Hesteadily meets my gaze, unhurried to end our encounter. He is clearly not most people.
“I don’t claim to be any of those things, but if you are wishing for a damsel to save, you won’t find her here. If you want a woman to swoon at your mere presence and weep with joy when you offer her a compliment, I am not her.”
He narrows his gaze as I back toward the doors joining our bedrooms.
“I’m under no illusions you need saving, Eleanor, but letting someone in isn’t a sign of weakness. Two people can become greater than the sum of their parts.”
“I’m aware of the logistics of synergy, but I don’t agree.”
His gaze drops to the valley between my breasts, goosebumps breaking out across my skin. “Do the piercings heighten your pleasure?”
My hand finds the handle of the door, and I push it down. “They do.”
“But alone, sitting in their little sterile packets, they don’t bring anyone pleasure. So putting two things together is greater than what they were alone.”
I frown. “Are you likening a relationship with you to having your nipples pierced?”
He rubs a hand down his face. “No. That makes it sound painful.”
“Then I’m lost in your complicated analogy.”
“You can make yourself come in under five minutes with the same vibrator, in exactly the same way. The feeling, the strength, the rush—it’s expected and predictable. Rinse and repeat.”
“Nothing’s wrong with predictable pleasure.”
“But what if someone else made you orgasm? What if they did something unexpected to make you lose control, taking your expectations and laying waste to them in the wake of an orgasm that makes you see stars?”
“Orgasms don’t make people see stars.”
He points at me. “And that there, is a crime. Orgasms should make you see stars every. Fucking. Time.”
“I’m good with my predictability.”
“We’ll see, Eleanor. I don’t scare easily, and I don’t give up on someone worth it.”
