“What do you want?” I asked, stripped of my usual shyness by our proximity and the simple but devastating act of sharing the taste of me between our lips. His eyes shuttered, but when I cupped his cheek in one hand, he answered, “To be the man who deserves that look on your face.” “What look?” I asked, afraid of the question—and the answer—but not enough to take it back. “Like I could pull the stars from the sky for you if only you asked me to.” “And would you?” His sigh sounded almost resigned as it feathered over my mouth. “Troverei un modo.” I would find a way.
