Page 71 of Long Story Short

For a moment, all I can do is look at him.

Because I don’t think anyone’s ever wanted to spend the night with me without it meaning something else. Without there being an expectation of sex attached.

And I don’t know how I feel about him wanting to spend time with me, knowing nothing else will happen tonight.

I don’t know how to feel about a man wanting to spend time with me just for me because it’s something I haven’t really experienced before.

“You just want to—” My words stall as I try to figure out what he’s requesting “—hang out tonight? Sleep together without the sex?”

His mouth twitches as he gives me one curt nod. “I know. Wild concept, isn’t it?”

I can’t help but laugh and shake my head at him. “You’re asking me to stay the night, with no sex involved. That doesn’t exactly scream casual,” I point out.

“You’re right. But I don’t think I can do casual. Not with you.”

My mouth snaps shut because his words are both a relief and absolutely terrifying. It should be casual. We only met a week ago. And yet…I feel the same way.

His gaze holds mine, his blue eyes steady and unwavering. “Stay. Please.”

The way he says the words—quiet and confident—makes it really hard to overthink this the way that I want to.

God, do I want to overthink this. Because this moment feels like something. Something important. Something that could very easily lead to him mattering more than I’m ready for.

For a moment, I think about leaving. About going back to my place. I came over here for him to help with inspiration, and he definitely did that. I wanted to know what it felt like to feel more with someone, and I did with him.

I could go back home and sit alone with everything I’m feeling right now. I could even use the memory of the orgasm he gave me—and the way he made me feel—and write some more tonight.

But it doesn’t feel right.

Not when I could stay here—with him.

“Okay,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.

Something shifts in his expression as his shoulders sag slightly. Maybe it’s relief.

“Okay?” he repeats, dragging the word out.

I nod as a smile tugs at my lips. “Okay,” I respond, more confident this time.

He returns my smile as his hands slide down my waist. “Then come on.”

The bathroom light is even softer than in the kitchen. I don’t know what it is about being in here with him, but it feels quieter in here. More private.

Tyson’s grip on my hand is tight as he leads me to the large vanity. My pulse thumps erratically as I can’t help but wonder why he led me straight in here instead of into his room.

Before I can ask him what he’s doing, both his hands find my hips as he lifts me onto the white marble of his bathroom counter.

“What’s up with you putting me on counters this evening?” I ask, my voice quiet but teasing.

“Maybe I have a thing for you and countertops.” Tyson smiles as he opens a cabinet and pulls out a washcloth. I watch him closely as he runs it under the water before wringing it out.

I catch on to what he’s doing, and my cheeks heat at the realization. He turns back to me, the washcloth still in his hand as he hesitates for a moment. “Can I help clean you up?” he asks, the question still taking me off guard.

I don’t even know if it’s what he’s asking that takes me by surprise or if it’s the fact that he’s asking at all.

I give him a timid nod. “Yes,” I breathe, my heart doing funny things at the simple gesture.

His hand is steady as he steps between my thighs once again. I don’t know what seems more intimate—his mouth on me making me come, or him cleaning me up after—but I know both have me feeling things for him that are new and completely foreign.