Page 46 of The Equation of Us
“You showed up with a list of boundaries in your pocket and concern on your face.” His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, the gentle touch at odds with his penetrating gaze. “But you’re also wearing perfume I haven’t smelled on you before. And unless I’m mistaken, that’s a new bra under your shirt.”
I feel heat rush to my face. How did he notice? “I—”
“What do you want tonight, Nora?” His thumb brushes my cheek. “Tell me the truth.”
The question strips away my defenses. What do I want? Not to discuss rules or worry about Daphne. Not to overthink every interaction. I want what I always want with him—to let go, to surrender, to feel instead of think.
“I want you,” I say simply. “I want what we do together. How you make me feel.”
Something softens in his expression. “Good. Because that’s what I want too.” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “I’ve been thinking about tasting you all day.”
A shiver runs down my spine at his words and the promise they hold.
“But first,” he continues, drawing back slightly, “I want you to do something for me.”
“What?” My voice sounds breathier than I intended.
“I want you to show me what you’re wearing under this.” His fingers toy with the top button of my blouse. “Slowly.”
My pulse quickens. This is new—if he wanted me to undress, I figured he’d just strip me, his movements efficient and commanding. The idea of performing for him, of revealing myself deliberately, makes my skin flush with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.
“Can you do that for me?” he asks, stepping back to create space between us.
I nod, fingers moving to the first button. “Yes.”
“Good.” He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, giving me room.
I begin unbuttoning my blouse, hyperaware of his gaze following each movement. The room feels too warm suddenly, the air charged with anticipation. When I reach the last button, I hesitate before letting the fabric fall open, revealing the black lace bra underneath.
Dean’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening slightly. “Beautiful,” he says, the word rough around the edges. “Keep going.”
I slip the blouse off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. My fingers move to the zipper of my slacks next, lowering it with a deliberate slowness that feels both awkward and thrilling. I push the fabric down my hips, stepping out of the pants to stand before him in just the matching black lace set.
“Turn around,” he instructs softly. “Slowly.”
I do, feeling exposed and powerful at the same time. The cool air raises goosebumps on my skin, but heat pools low in my belly at the knowledge that he’s watching, taking in every detail.
When I complete the turn to face him again, his expression has changed—still intensely focused, but with a vulnerability Ihaven’t seen before. Like he’s been affected more deeply than he expected.
“Come here,” he says, holding out a hand.
I move toward him, taking his hand and letting him guide me to stand between his knees. His hands settle on my hips, warm against my skin.
“You know what I like about you, Nora?” he asks, looking up at me.
“What?”
“You never do anything halfway.” His thumbs trace small circles just above the lace of my underwear. “When you commit to something, you’re all in.”
There’s something in his voice—admiration, yes, but also a question. Like he’s trying to figure me out still.
“Is that why you like controlling me?” I ask, emboldened by the unusual dynamic between us. “Because I commit fully?”
A flicker of surprise crosses his face, quickly replaced by consideration. “Maybe.” His hands continue their gentle exploration, moving up my sides. “Or maybe I like seeing what happens when someone so controlled finally lets go.”
He pulls me down suddenly, guiding me to straddle his lap. The position puts us face to face, my knees on either side of his hips, my arms instinctively moving to his shoulders for balance.
“Kiss me,” he says, but it’s softer than a command. Almost a request.
