Page 22 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

A pause.

“Because wanting you and acting on it are not the same thing.”

Not a game, then. Not some impulsive indulgence. He held the line because he thought he had to, because there were rules and consequences and lines decent men did not cross no matter how badly they wanted to.

I glance down, smoothing my hand once over his shirt as if that will steady me. If anything, feeling the heat of him under the fabric makes it worse.

“I used to think about you,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

His hand at my waist goes still.

My face burns. “Which is humiliating, so ideally that confession dies here.”

His voice drops. “Athena.”

I look up.

“What did you think about?”

There should be laws against the way he asks that, like he already knows the answer will ruin us both and he wants it anyway.

I laugh once, breathless and nervous. “You really want me to say it?”

“Yes.”

I should keep one shred of self-preservation. Instead I hear myself say, “I thought about what it would be like if you ever stopped looking at me like you had to be careful.”

His gaze darkens.

“I thought about you touching me,” I continue, because apparently once I start destroying my own composure I prefer to be thorough. “I thought about what your hands would feel like. I thought about what kind of man stays that controlled all the time and what happens when he finally isn’t.”

His exhale is slow and measured, which only makes it hotter, because it tells me he is still trying—still making some last effort to hold himself together while I stand here confessing years’ worth of extremely inadvisable thoughts.

“Oh my god,” I murmur, mostly to myself. “This is actually happening.”

His other hand comes up, knuckles brushing lightly along my jaw before his palm cups the side of my face. The tenderness of it nearly wrecks me. I was prepared for hunger. I was not prepared for care.

“This is what you wanted?” he asks quietly.

The honesty rises in me before I can tame it. “For a very long time.”

Something in his expression gives then, some final restraint loosening under the surface.

“You could have said something,” I whisper then immediately shake my head. “No, that’s unfair. I know why you didn’t.”

“It would have been reckless.”

His thumb drifts once over my cheekbone, and my whole body leans into the touch before I can stop it. “Then why now?” I manage to ask.

He holds my gaze for a long moment, and when he answers his voice has gone deeper, roughened around the edges.

“Because I’m tired of standing in front of you and pretending I don’t think about you when I shouldn’t.” His hand slides from my face to the back of my neck, slow and sure. “I’m tired of watching you settle for boys who don’t know what to do with a woman like you.” His eyes move over my face with unbearable focus. “And I’m tired of imagining how you’d look if I finally put my hands on you and showed you the difference.”

A shiver runs straight through me.