“God, no. Now if I don’t know what an item is, I observe from a distance like an intelligent adult. My adolescent brain didn’t comprehend the idea of pain like I would today. I’d like to avoid any and all hospital visits. Not my cup of tea.”

“So you’re saying I should nix the tool belt I was going to get you for our fake first anniversary?” Henry asks, and I chuckle.

“I consider myself self-sufficient, but please keep all hammers and other household items that might cause bodily injury out of my reach. A thoughtful gift, though.”

“I’ll settle for a small, handheld stapler instead.”

“Gee, now you’re really going above and beyond.”

“Back to the game, my friend. Our cookie countdown is almost over. Up or down?”

“Down. Top or bottom?” The question slips out before I can think twice. Henry breaks into a wicked grin, dropping his chin into the palm of his hand and staring at me intently, hot flames nearly cackling from his body. “I didn’t… That’s not…” I fumble, eyes widening, words ceasing, utterly mortified by my mistake while simultaneously drawing nearer to him, waiting with bated breath to hear the answer.

“Mmm. Top. I’ve always liked to be in control, and it gives such marvelous views. Now tell me, Emma, top or bottom?” His voice is husky. Deep. Powerful. The tone causes me to shudder, my nipples pebbling under my shirt. It echoes through my body from the top of my head to my stomach, sliding lower and lower, enveloping me in long-awaited aching, yearning want.

I know I don’t have to answer. I could dismiss the game and walk away. I could throw something at his face and snap at him for being derogatory. I could roll my eyes and laugh it off, ignoring the concealed interest in answering openly, anguished to know just how far this might go.

Eyes trained on him, I speak with as much gusto and confidence as I can. “Bottom,” I rasp, refusing to look away.

“Good,” he croons.

I almost burst into flames. I’m on fire; his scorching gaze is burning me alive. It’s too hot in here. We’re close. We’re not close enough. I want to take back what I said. I want to say more. I’m suppressed by Henry all around me as my imagination runs wild, picturing all the depraved, delicious ways he could electrify my empty world.

And how I would let him.

Never have I had such a physical reaction to someone without so much as a touch or caress. My underwear is growing wetter by the second as fantasy after fantasy dances through my head. My breathing is becoming erratic. I’m about to throw myself at him, casting my morals to the side and asking him to show me how to live dangerously and recklessly.

That’s attraction you’re feeling.