“We’ll need to handhold often.” “Can’t we just walk arm in arm?” I shoot him a look that makes his lips roll. “You had no trouble holding my hand yesterday.” “Fine,” he says. To set limits—and maybe, to fluster him a little—I say, “There will be no fondling of breasts.” Sure enough, a wash of color rises up his neck and tinges his jaw. Quite enjoying his discomfiture, I take it a step farther. “Perhaps an ass squeeze, if the moment calls for it, but hand-jobs whilst sitting on one’s throne are off the table.”
