“Regarding those videos?” There’s a hint of a tease there, but also a sadness.
“More than just the videos. You … captivate me.”
His confession only adds to my own curiosity about what this man wants from me. About what he could do to me. The nervousness is evident in the tapping of his thumb on the armrest.
“What did you think?” I question shamelessly.
“I searched your name along with a number of questions. By the end of the night, I had double the number of questions.”
His boyish shyness he attempts to cover with a loosely formed fist held over his grin makes me laugh.
“These kinds of questions I think I’d like to answer.” There’s a hesitation from Zander and I wish he’d stop. “You can ask me anything.”
A rawness climbs up my throat, but the pain medicine for my headache seems to be helping it as well.
“Would you answer questions about your sexuality from Damon as well or only me?”
He had to ruin it, didn’t he. There’s a hard pang in my chest. Zander has said the quiet part out loud. Staring at my hands, I trace over the lines of my palms and then peer back up at him, offering him complete honesty. “I wouldn’t care for questions like that from him.”
“But for me?”
My answer is immediate. “I’ve dreamed of you asking me those questions, Zander.” Swallowing thickly, I don’t dare to tame my gaze and I don’t dare to leave his when I add, “In my dreams, I call you Z.”
I anticipate a humorous response, but I’m met with a serious tone.
“You know I watched videos of you. I believe they were consensual but I’d like to hear it from you if that’s the case.”
“Very much so. My idea, my … kink. Yes.” I remember the first time I shared it. The rush, the desire. “Did you watch them all?”
“Yes,” he says and his answer is resolute.
“Then you know that I enjoy many … tastes.” Every nerve ending in my body ignites from the way he looks at me. As if he’s sizing up his prey. I’ll run from him when he’s ready, if that’s what he wants.
“Would you care to elaborate?” he questions.
“Elaborate on what? I desire specifics.” I am far too comfortable with this man, but it feels nothing but empowering.
“Are you bisexual?” he asks.
“I’m attracted to women, occasionally sexually.” I elaborate, because there is a difference between sex and partnership when I think about my attractions. “Romantically, the happily-ever-after type of desire … I am not sure. I have always wanted men to fill that role. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I’m aware of it. I feel satisfied and … like I can be complete with a man as my partner. And I do want a partner. A monogamous relationship. But I have always thought women are beautiful, and I enjoy sex with both men and women.”
“Understood.”
“Do you judge me for it?” I ask, not sure what he thinks of that truth. “In the past, I thought myself to be alone in these feelings. I simply do what I desire and it leads me to want things I don’t see people often admitting.”
“No. I don’t judge you. I understand desire takes many forms …” His fingers rap along the armrest in a rhythmic beat before he continues his questioning.
“Are you attracted to men sexually too? Or just romantically?” Before I can respond, he adds, “Know that I can help you either way. Your answer will only help me to suit your needs better.” His statement is direct. His admission … promising things I am desperate for.
Without holding a damn thing back, I tell him, “I’m sexually attracted to you.”
“To men,” he corrects me, although it’s a farce and we both know it.
“Sorry, doctor,” I say flippantly, shrugging off my bluntness.
“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”
“Sorry, Z,” I answer without thinking twice and my treacherous heart hammers at the nickname. Z. Peering up, I judge his reaction. “I didn’t mean to overstep.” His fingers dig into the armrest, and his lips twitch with a smirk. Readjusting on the sofa, the throw slipping down my shoulder and puddling in my lap, I ask, “Would that be all right? To call you Z.”