Chapter 9: Where She Asked

He carried me up the stairs of his father's house, and I kissed his throat the whole way.

His bedroom was at the end of the hall, with a big iron bed and a window full of stars.

He laid me down on the quilt with both hands.

Then he stood over me in the dark, breathing hard, and did not move.

"What?" I said.

"I keep thinking you'll wake up and change your mind."

"I haven't been asleep for seven years, Jonas."

"I thought you wanted me gone."

"I did."

"And now?"

"Now take your jeans off."

He undid his belt with fingers that were not steady.

I watched him do it.

I watched the jeans go, and then the rest, and then I stopped pretending to be calm.

He was big everywhere.

He was thick and hard and flushed, and when I reached for him he dropped his head back and swore.

I closed my hand around his cock and stroked him once, slowly, base to tip.

"Mara," he said. "Christ."

"You like that."

"You know I do."

I did it again.

A bead of wet gathered at the tip, and I rolled my thumb across it and watched his stomach clench.

He caught my wrist.

"My turn," he said.

He knelt on the bed and undid the buttons of my dress one at a time, and every button was a small hot kiss.

My dress fell open, and he slid it down my shoulders and over my hips without once looking below my waist.

I saw him keep his eyes on my face.

That was the thing that undid me, more than his hands.

He had promised, and he was keeping it in the dark, when no one could have blamed him.

"You can look," I whispered.

"You said not to."

"I'm saying you can."

He swallowed.

Then he looked.

He looked at my thin pale legs with their long scars, and he did not flinch.

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