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His eyes are intense. I feel them burrowing into me through every pore.

“That seems fair.”

“No lies.”

“Yes.”

“No pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about when you absolutely know what I’m talking about.”

My face heats. “Also fair.”

“No cam shows.”

I blink. “I wasn’t planning to—”

His eyebrows lift.

“Yes,” I say. “No cam shows.”

He takes a wide stance, arms crossing at the chest.

“And no clothes.”

The house shrinks in around me.

“No close… what? No closed doors?” I ask, my voice as desperate as the question itself.

Clint sighs. “This is starting off badly.”

“Sorry.” I raise my hands in retreat. “I mean… right. Clothes as in… cloth. On my body. None?”

“That’s what I said. And you knew that’s what I meant. Please stop bullshitting, Paul.”

“I’m trying.”

I look down at my plastered-on shirt and wrinkled shorts. My core curls inward at the thought of losing either of them.

“Just me?” I ask.

He gives me a look, his lips twisting into something that’s almost a smile. Not cruel, but coldly amused.

“Just you.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Clint unfolds his arms, shifts his hands to his hips. “You saw parts of me you never should have seen. You got the up close, zoomed in, secret identity roadshow of my cock, balls, and butthole. So now, for things to be square, you don’t get to hide behind your polos and buttons and rich-guy vacation shorts.”

“This is punishment.”

“It’s justice.” He nods his head back and forth, weighing the word. “And maybe a little bit of punishment.”

The honesty startles a laugh out of me.

Clint holds the line. “It’s also fair.”

“Is it?”

“No,” he says. “But fair enough for today.”