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T herese stalls. I think she wants to say yes, but she’s afraid to hurt me.

It’s so refreshing. Sometimes, I haven’t been treated as a person. I’ve never dated, but I have escorted women to events before, and it was clear that I was the accessory, something functional. Therese sees me as her equal, a person worth protecting.

To a golem, that’s practically an aphrodisiac.

“That’s so sweet. I... I would like that, Reggie, really. But I-I know that’s not right. It’s something you’d regret. It could put you in danger.”

I snort. “That’s normal for me.”

“But you’d have to leave this place! I would hate for you to do that! Even if you're being serious—”

“I’m not much for jokes,” I admit, suddenly struck by how much Therese and I tease and banter with each other, how much she makes me laugh. No one has ever done that—and it’s not because I’ve known her longer and given her more of a chance—because I haven’t.

“Well. Even if you’re serious and I want to take you up on it, I can’t. I won’t trust myself not to make the same mistake twice. I’m not going to rush.” She sets her chin —I never noticed how cute her chin is before—and nods once, crossing her arms.

I want to point out that this doesn’t feel rushed to me.

It feels like I’ve been waiting for her forever, and she’s been coming to her own conclusions about what would really make her happy for the past year!

We’re finally ready to meet someone new.

Someone special. Someone to go the distance with nothing hidden.

But it’s like trying to convince a nervous skydiver that the jump window is now and only now. I’m airborne, and Therese’s still back in the plane.

WE EAT DINNER WITHOUT talking about anything big. The tension diminishes the flavor of the steak, frozen green beans, and mashed potatoes, but it’s still the best I’ve had.

This girl can cook. With nothing but supermarket pre-packaged steak, butter, and a couple of spices, she made the meal memorable.

It’s the company, you moron. You just like her. She likes you, too.

I don’t know if I can change her mind before I lose my chance, but by God, I’m going to try.

Try. Without being overt about it, without pushing.

Well. This is hopeless, the voice inside my head moans.

In situations like this, where I can see what my charges cannot, I either use brute force to carry them out of danger or position myself as an immovable wall to shield them.

I never just let them do as they wish if I feel it is wrong. I don’t like doing it now.

But maybe this is just selfishness—something I’ve never experienced in this form—or with whatever this strange new sensation is in my chest...

“I’ll clear the dishes. You go... uh. You go rest. You look tired.” I whisk the empty plates away and wait until I hear Therese walk out of the dining room before letting my head hang low with a long, heavy sigh.

It’s hard to give someone space when you’re obligated to be in the same house. It’s also hard when she’s the first woman you’ve ever called ‘wife,’ the first woman you think might fit that job description—and she doesn’t want to hurt you by accepting your offer, so she hurts you by rejecting it.

Damn. Is that what love is like? You feel wonderful and terrible all at once?

All the wounds I’ve had in the line of duty, on rescue missions, during war... I think the one that might kill me was given by a tiny little dude with a diaper and wings. All the bullets I've dodged, and Cupid’s arrow is stuck inside, too deep to get out.

I scrub the cast iron so hard that the water slops out of the sink and all over my front. I’m covered in greasy water that smells like onions.

“Teri?” I call out as I rush through the rest of the dishes.

“What is it?” Her voice is alarmed.

“I’m going to use the shower, okay?”

MY HOT, MUSCULAR, DEVOTED fake hubby is naked across the hall from me. There’s a small half-bath in the master bedroom. It’s not like I need to be in there. That bathroom shouldn’t concern me at all. Nope. Nu-uh.

But all I can think about is stepping in there with him, running my hands down his wet body, soaping and lathering his sigil-covered skin.

It’s a fantasy of mine and has been ever since I saw an iconic hot tub scene in a teen romance movie.

Funny, it was one thing Matteo wasn’t interested in trying out.

He was excited about anything and everything sexual, but not in the bathtub or shower.

I lay on the bed, my pussy giving needy tingles. How long since I had any kind of pleasure, whether delivered by myself or someone else? At least three months, probably closer to three and a half now. But Reggie sleeps in here, too. I can’t touch myself.

I want him to touch me.

Which is stupid in the extreme, I tell myself sternly. You just told the man you don’t want to repeat any of your mistakes, and what do you think about doing? Rejecting his long-term offer but wanting him to bang you into the middle of next week? That’s Matteo-thinking.

“God,” I groan, hands over my eyes. I just realized why he didn’t want to fool around in the shower.

That was Hair Care Central. Matteo was more vain about his thick, lustrous black hair than any woman I’ve ever met.

He had a fear of going bald. I should have told Powell to threaten to shave his head.

Speaking of shaving... I haven’t. My hand briefly ghosts over my mound as I hear water running in the silent house. My nipples tighten as I play a dangerous game... a game that’s completely safe in comparison. Knowing Reggie could walk in and see me touching myself makes me wetter than it should.

Matteo wanted everything smooth, shaved, and waxed. I didn’t mind. He was perfectly “manscaped” in return. Now, I’ve regrown a thatch of whiskey-blonde curls. Would Reggie care?

I don’t think so. I think Reggie would accept it as how I roll and move on. He might even like it.

Fuck, I want him to like how I look, how I taste, how I feel.

Would it be so bad to let him come with me? He could always leave later if he wanted... My finger slips under my pajama bottoms and parts my slick lower lips. My clit stands up, waiting for attention as images of Reggie stroking his cock in the shower fill my mind. Maybe that’s what he’s doing.

Maybe he’s imagining you on his big, hard cock, just like you’re imagining him filling you up.

With a silent gasp, one finger intrudes, then two. The heel of my palm stays hard against my clit, rubbing in circles as I start to finger myself hard and fast, knowing I’m seconds away from exposure.

I have to finish, fast.

SHE HAS ME SO WORKED up and twisted around. My hand mimics the corkscrew of my imagination, soapy grip on my hard cock moving faster and faster, lip bitten hard to keep my dirty secret hidden. I shouldn’t be jerking off, thinking about making love to Teri.

Matteo being good in bed was in her litany of reasons why she let herself follow blindly in his glamorous wake.

But just from her descriptions, from little things she’s mentioned and a few spare moments on my phone, I can tell what a selfish lover he must have been.

Oh sure, he gave her pleasure and satisfaction because it stroked his ego, too.

But I bet he always wanted his share. I bet he never gave unless he could take.

Right now, I imagine showing her that I can spoil her, that I don’t need anything from her except the sound of her cries to explode in pleasure.

I’ve never been pleasured by another. I can’t imagine the privilege of having a woman like Teri touching me, taking me inside of her.

No, I’ll be the one serving her, loving her, delighting her, feeling her hands stroke my smooth scalp as I give her exactly what she wants, what she should have.

My fist jerks faster and my breathing loses rhythm as I imagine my head buried between her thighs, letting her be on top as she rides my face into a happy vortex of pussy juice and breathless curses.

My cum spatters the shower wall with a single shout.

I hear an answering shout from across the hall.

“Therese?” I choke, coming back to reality with a thud.

I spray the shower head at the wall to remove any evidence of my lust and give myself the fastest scrub down on record, clay skin now extra supple and muscles more defined, plumped with the water I absorbed.

With a muffled curse, I hurdle out of the tub and into a towel, shouldering open the door of the bedroom before I even assess the situation.

This woman makes me crazy.

And there she is on the bed, hand yanking up to her chest, flushed face and mussed hair telling me a story without her uttering a single word.

It wasn’t a cry of pain.

It was a cry of pleasure.

“I... I was just—” Therese stammers guiltily, her eyes sweeping down my body and freezing at hip height.

I consider closing my towel more firmly. Instead, I leave it where it is, showing the crease where my thigh and towel meet. An inch to the side, and I’ll show her that I’m already semi-hard for her again.

“I was—it’s been a—” Teri tries to explain as she sits up, but her words won’t come. I walk over to the switch on the wall, moving slowly, giving her plenty of time to stop me.

She doesn’t.

“Can I try to change your mind about my earlier suggestion?” I ask, voice soft and tight. If I let myself speak louder, my voice will crack and the spell will be broken.

Therese’s head nods jerkily—and I turn off the lights.