Page 243 of Faking the Goal

Oh, absolutely not.

I look down at the open manga in my lap and bite the inside of my cheek, as though physical pain might stop my face from betraying me.

"There is something else, isn't there?"

I shake my head far too quickly. "No."

His eyes narrow.

Traitorously, my cheeks grow even hotter.

Kentaro reaches over and cups my chin, gently turning my face back toward him. "What usually helps you sleep?"

I squeeze my eyes shut. There is no possible way I am admitting this to him. I would rather fling myself through the bedroom window, scale the security fence, and take my chances with the stalker.

"Trouble."

The warning in his voice is quiet, but it is also unfairly compelling. I open my eyes to find him staring at me with patient, relentless intensity, his hand still resting against my chin. He doesn't rush me or repeat the question. He simply waits, watching me until every second of silence becomes another small turn of the screw.

I can actually feel myself beginning to crack.

He knows exactly what he's doing. This is psychological torture disguised as concern, and the worst part is that it works.

"Orgasm," I blurt in a squeak.

The word seems to bounce off every wall in the room before the silence swallows it whole.

My hands fly over my face.

Oh, God.

Oh, no.

I am going to have to move to another country now. Possibly another planet.

"Oh," Kentaro says after several long seconds.

A strangled pause follows.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath.

The mattress shifts slightly beside me, and when he speaks again, all that smooth confidence has vanished from his voice. "Do you, uh... want me to give you privacy? So you can... relieve yourself?"

Fucking hell.

This is worse than the nightmare.

I drag my hands away from my face and stare at him in horror. "God, no. Oh my God, this is so embarrassing. I should never have said anything."

"No, no, there's nothing wrong with it." He raises both hands as though trying to calm a wild animal. "It's not embarrassing. Or...gasms are normal. They're healthy, actually. I've, uh, read that they release hormones that reduce stress and help people sleep, so it's... medically reasonable."

I stare at him.

He stares back.

A laugh escapes me despite the humiliation burning through my entire body. "Right. Nothing embarrassing about this at all, except you can't even get through one sentence without stuttering."

He looks down, suddenly very interested in rubbing a finger along his jaw. The sheepishness on his face is so unexpected that it almost makes the situation bearable.