Page 89 of Raspados & Regret

“You know what I mean.”

“Say it.”

I swallow. Of course he wants me to say it. Why wouldn’t the man who spent all night making me suffer want me to stand in his bedroom and pull the truth out of my own ribs?

“Because I’ve never done this with a man.”

His chest rises.

There.

The world doesn’t end.

The floor doesn’t open.

Elías does not laugh.

He just looks at me like I handed him something breakable, and he knows exactly how much it weighs.

“Okay,” he says softly.

Okay.

One word.

No fireworks.

No judgment.

No joke.

Just okay.

My chest hurts.

He steps away from the door and comes to me, slow enough that I could back up.

I don’t.

He reaches for the hem of my crop top. His fingers brush my stomach first, warm and light, and my muscles jump.

“You still want me?” he asks.

My answer is immediate. “Yes.”

His eyes darken.

“You want to stop?”

“No.”

“You need me to slow down?”

I almost say no because pride is stupid and loud. Then I breathe. “Maybe.”

His mouth curves. “Hey, that’s my word.”

“I hate that word.”