The door clicks shut. And now, here we are. Alone. In a room with a penis mold in my right hand. “So,” I say. “Let’s get this over with, I guess.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s fine. No big deal.” “Jemma, really,” he says, his voice soft. “Look at me.” I do and immediately wish I hadn’t because fuck me, he is breathtaking and it makes me feel like a stupid, weak bitch for wanting him. “Yep. Looking.”
