“I’m not putting orgasms on my list,” I say. “Why not?” Barrett asks. “Because I’m not going to force you to pleasure me. That would be weird.” My face is already heating at the thought. “Chloe, you wouldn’t be forcing anything. I want to fuck you with my fingers.” My gaze moves to where Barrett is slowly rotating his wine glass on the arm of the couch. His fingers pinching the stem, twisting it slowly. “And my tongue,” he adds. I’m speechless. “Maybe I’ll put it on my list,” he says. “You don’t have a list,” I argue. “Maybe I’ll make one.” He stands and walks over to his desk. “You can’t do
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