“It’s what, Eva?” His voice was soft, kind, encouraging.
I looked up at him. Let out a breath, stared down at the floor, and released the truth from within me, where it had been caged for so long. “It’s a fantasy of mine.”
“To…touch me?”
I shrugged. “Not you specifically, no.” I met his gaze. “Not until now, at least.”
“Your fantasy is to…just…touch a man?” he clarified, sounding puzzled.
I nodded. “Yes. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Later, maybe.”
I shrugged, noncommittal. “Maybe.” I reached for him, glancing up at him as I grasped the button of his shorts. “My point is, I’ve never done this before, so…” I shrugged. “I may not, um…”
He clasped his hands behind his back, to stop himself from touching me. “There’s no right or wrong, Eva. All there is, is what you want. That’s it.”
I unbuttoned the fly of his shorts and then pinched the zipper between my index finger and thumb. Inhaled sharply, feeling a thrill shoot through me as I began to realize fully that thiswasreal, that Iwasdoing this. It wasn’t a dream, or a fantasy. It may be simple to someone else, but to me, this was…a big deal. I pulled the zipper down, and the shorts sagged open. The bulge expanded, pushing apart the edges of the opened fly. A tug, and the shorts slid in a quiet plop to the floor around his ankles, and Baxter toed them aside.
I had to suck in a deep breath, and squeeze my hands into fists and shake them out to try and stop the shaking.
“Eva, listen—”
I glanced up at him. “I know you’re not about to try to talk me out of this.”
“Hell no,” he chuckled. “Just reminding you that this is real. Don’t cheat yourself out of an experience by pretending it’s not real.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “That is a good point.”
It was, too. Thus far, I’d been sort of holding on to the idea that this was still all a very lucid dream. I knew better obviously, but it helped me cope. So much had happened, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle it all if I thought about it, so I chose not to dwell on any of it, and pretend it was all a lucid dream or a hallucination, or something.
But it wasn’t.
This was my life.
I was in Ketchikan, Alaska. My father—and Thomas—had no idea where I was, for the moment, which meant they weren’t monitoring me or my actions or my decisions. I was free to do what I wanted. No one had any expectations on me. Least of all Baxter.
I could do this. I wanted to touch this man, and I was going to. No one could tell me it was bad or wrong or not the behavior expected of a du Maurier. I didn’t know him, not at all. He was a virtual stranger. But he was a virtual stranger who had saved, if not my life, then saved me from an assault. Gotten me a shower, and clean clothes, and a drink or two. Introduced me to his family, who were really interesting and cool people, who had calmed me down and relaxed me and accepted me and gotten me to open up in a way I never had with anyone.
And then…he’d walked me to my B and B, and then he’d done…well…incredible things to me. Touched me. Made me feel wanted. Beautiful. Made me feel…sexy.In control, somehow, despite the fact that he’d pushed the situation from start to finish. But he’d given me the choice. Asked me if I wanted it, and forced me to admit that I did—forced me to admit it to myself. He’d never taken advantage of me, and was in fact being very careful with me, giving me every opportunity to demur, or change my mind.
Letting me dictate things.
Like now. I was just ruminating, staring, thinking, and he was in no hurry at all. Watching me, hands behind his back, brown eyes curious and patient. Heated, interested. Just waiting.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just—”
“I got nowhere to be till tomorrow, babe. Take your time.”
I wanted this. Just this, for now. I told myself to open my mind, to let myself feel this and experience it and savor the moment. This wasmymoment. I was doing this because I wanted to, and for no other reason.
I just…had to actually do it.
I hooked my index fingers in the elastic waistband of his tight yellow boxer briefs, inhaled slowly, glanced at Baxter, and then at what I was about to expose. Slowly, I pulled the waistband away from his body and drew the undergarment down, careful to make sure the elastic didn’t get caught. My heart was thundering, pounding wildly; Baxter looked calm and cool and composed, hands behind his back, one corner of his mouth tipped up in the tiniest hint of a smile. The muscles in his jaw were flexing nonstop, though, making a bit of a lie of his nonchalance.
In one smooth movement, then, I lowered his underwear until they fell free, and Baxter toed them aside with his shorts.
And now he was naked. Hands still clasped behind him, exposing himself to me, confidently, even a little arrogantly.
