Chapter 19: What She Wants

The spare room had a single bed, a lamp with a paper shade and a poster of the Poconos that Maggie had never taken down.

Elliot stood in the doorway and looked at it.

"This is where you slept," he said.

"For six weeks. Come in."

He came in and sat on the edge of the bed, which sank under him.

He looked enormous in that room, and uncertain, and I liked both.

I stood in front of him with my hands behind my back.

"Tonight you do what I say," I said. "But not like the desk."

"How, then?"

"You ask me what I want. And you do exactly that, and nothing else."

His throat moved.

"Hallie," he said. "Tell me what you want."

I had never been asked.

Not in four years, not once, by anyone.

It was a strange thing to have an answer ready.

"Take your sweater off," I said.

He pulled it over his head and dropped it on the floor.

"Slower."

He did it again, with the sweater halfway, and stopped with his arms up, and I laughed.

"Not that slow."

He grinned.

It was the first time I had seen him grin with his whole face, and it made me forget the rest of my list.

I knelt on the bed in front of him and put my hands on his chest.

"I want to undress you," I said. "I want to go very, very slowly, and I want you not to touch me until I say."

"Understood."

I opened his belt.

I took my time with the zipper, watching his stomach pull in, and drew his trousers down his thighs and off.

He was already hard against his boxers.

I put my mouth on him through the cotton, and he made a low sound in his chest and fisted the sheet.

"You said not to touch."

"I'm not touching."

"You're strangling the blanket."

"It's the only thing in here I'm allowed."

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