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He goes still.

I open my eyes again so he can see I mean it.

“I don’t want just sex either,” I say, because that matters more than the heat between us. “But this doesn’t feel like just sex to me.”

Something dangerous moves across his face.

Fear, maybe.

Want, definitely.

“I’m not good at more.”

“I know.”

“I might fuck it up.”

“You probably will.”

His mouth twitches, but his eyes stay serious. “You saying yes because you’re scared?”

“No.”

“Because Razor’s got you cornered?”

“No.”

“Because you think owing me your body is safer than owing me trust?”

My chest squeezes hard.

“No.” I tighten my fingers in his shirt. “I’m saying yes because I want you. Because you fixed my lock, made me terrible toast, gave my mama’s picture back a spine, and told CSI to ask me instead of deciding for me.”

Something flickers in his eyes at that last part.

I keep going.

“You keep giving the choice back.”

Bitter closes his eyes for just a second. When he opens them, the dark there nearly takes my knees.

“Sweet.”

“This means more to me than casual.”

His jaw tightens.

“I need you to understand that before we do anything else. And I don’t share, Bitter. If you’re sleeping with me, you’re not sleeping with other women.”

His jaw tightens harder. “Wasn’t planning to.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

His eyes narrow. “No other women.”

I hold his gaze. “And you?”

“What about me?”