Chapter 17: The Sentence

Cal's POV

She asked me on the drive home, in the dark, with her hand flat on my thigh.

"Rule two," June said. "I'm asking."

I should have asked her what for. I drove faster instead.

In the shop I didn't turn on a light, and she didn't ask me to.

She stood at the foot of the ladder in the long green dress, and the stove ticked in the quiet.

"Unzip me," she said.

I found the zipper at the nape of her neck and drew it down slowly, one tooth at a time, with my knuckles against her spine.

She shivered, and the dress fell around her ankles.

She had nothing under it but a strip of black lace, and she stepped out of the dress and turned to face me.

"I can't see you," she said. "So tell me where you're looking."

"At your mouth," I said. My voice was rough. "Your breasts. The place where your hip meets your thigh."

"Good," she said. "Keep going."

We climbed to the loft, and she shoved the quilt to the floor and pushed me onto my back on the mattress.

She straddled me, and she undid my belt with both hands and her whole attention.

When she wrapped her fingers around my cock I made a sound I'd never made in front of anyone.

"Tell me what you want," she said.

I had never been asked that.

I was thirty-four years old and I had never once been asked that.

"I want you on me," I said. "I want to watch you take it."

She rose over me and sank down slowly, wet and tight and hot, and my head went back against the plank.

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