“What about you?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow. “What about me…?” There’s a clear taunt in the question. Like he knows I won’t use the words, won’t rephrase the question. Won’t be able to go there. I meet his gaze with my own and ignore the nerves swirling in my stomach. “What about your orgasm?” He runs a hand along his jaw, and his gaze narrows. “I’ll do what I’ve been doing every night since you moved in.” “Oh,” I breathe.
