Page 153 of The Story of You

“Okay. Okay. Not letting go.”

“A different kind of claustrophobia. I dunno. Or maybe it’s just the opposite. It’s too much and not enough.”

Too much and not enough.

“It’s just, sir? What if this doesn’t work out?”

“What if it does?” With a trembling hand, I push his hair outta his face.

“Nothing ever does.”

“Maybe it hasn’t in the past, and I don’t have a crystal ball to say that it will for sure in the future, but I know it’s worth trying.”

“I wish I could say the same so easily.”

He needs a new story or maybe to be reminded of one he’s already got. “You took a chance on Darius, didn’t you?”

“When we were kids, but he manipulated me. You know a little bit about how he works. He worms his fucking way in and doesn’t worm out till he damn well pleases. I might have forced my way back into his arms this time, but only because he’s in here and he won’t leave.” He beats a hand over his heart.

“Accurate description, but you kept coming back to him too. You wouldn’t let him go this time.”

“Maybe I should have.”

Is that another one of his tells? Does he have one foot out the door? How do I make him stay?

“Good luck with that. It won’t just be Darius dragging your ass back here, but me too. I have marine friends. We will find you and use any means necessary to bring you home.”

He melts—it was the right thing to say—letting go at long last. Every ounce of tension drifts away. He wants nothing more than to find the person or persons that will chain him to them.

“You have no right to be this fucking—gah!”

I laugh a scratchy chuckle into his hair. “Go to sleep, strawberry darlin’.”

“Did you have to pick the most obnoxious nickname in the world for me?”

“Want me to stop it?”

He shakes his head into my chest. “Of course, it’s endearing when you say it, which only makes it that much more annoying.”

I press a kiss on his forehead. “Darius was right again, pushing us together like this. We’re talking. Why don’t you talk to me?” He said he didn’t know before, but that’s seldom true. We usually know—at least what we think it is.

“It’s not like you’re Mr. Chatterbox.”

“I’m not, but you are.”

“It’s your big Top energy, okay? It does funny things to me, and I want to—oh God, please don’t make me do this.”

“It’s important. We have to do this, or it won’t work and I want us to work.”

He’s quiet while I rub his back. I slide a shaky hand up his shirt and glide it over his smooth skin. This man is way too fucking tempting. My fingers are tweaking his nipples. Short breathy exhales escape his lips.

“I’m not typically a pleaser—except under these circumstances; big Top energy. I’ve looked from here to New Zealand. I’ve come close, but never like this.” He sinks into me further. “So yeah, I can’t speak. I wanna say I’m afraid, but that’s not right. I’m not afraid of you.”

“You’re not. You feel safe, don’t you?” And that’s probably scarier for him. He thinks he’ll lose it.

“Yeah. The safest I’ve ever felt.” He sighs. “So, I guess I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing—the disappointing thing. I’m gonna at some point, but I can’t bear to see it so soon and I’m afraid of how much I’ll hate myself when it happens.”

His lips are right there. I want to kiss them. I’m already fondling his nipples—kissing’s a level down from that, ain’t it?