Page 42 of All Your Pucking Secrets

I flush. It’s a good thing he can’t see me because I must be ten different shades of red. How can he talk so calmly about women’s sex toys?

I recall his comment about not having been with anyone since me. Yeah, right. He’s way too calm and seems too familiar with these toys to have had such a long dry spell.

“Just try it, baby,” he urges. “Light that candle. I know how you love strawberries.”

To my absolute amazement, I’m tempted. I remember how good he used to make me feel, and based on how my body has been responding to him recently—despite my best efforts to pretend he doesn’t exist—the chemistry between us is still alive and well.

But I can’t, can I?

It isn’t right. He hurt me.

Besides, I haven’t orgasmed since high school, so what makes him think I’ll be able to do it now?

I end the call.

I sit on the bed and stare blankly at the sex toys, my mind firing at a million miles an hour. I set my phone aside, ignoring it when it starts to ring.

I hate to admit it, but Tyler has a point.

I deserve to feel good.

Eric Weston stole something from me. He’s serving time for his crime, but by refusing to even try to reclaim my ability to experience sexual pleasure, I’m allowing him to continue to steal from me.

The only person that hurts is me.

But I’ve tried before, and I wasn’t able to get out of my head enough to get turned on.

I can’t do it alone. But perhaps I don’t have to.

Experience has taught me not to trust Tyler, but however badly he may have screwed me over, he was gentle with me when we were intimate.

Not to mention the fact that he knows what happened to me. If I can’t shut my mind off properly by myself, then I need to involve someone else. The last thing I want is to have to explain to some random guy what I want and why I need to be treated with kid gloves.

Tyler gets it.

With shaking hands, I pick up my phone and redial his number. He answers immediately.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I—”

“I’m willing to try,” I whisper, interrupting him. “Tell me what to do. But if it’s too much, you have to stop as soon as I say so.”

“I promise,” he vowed. “You’re in charge. But Echo, are you sure you want this?”

I swallowed to wet my dry throat. “I have to try. I owe myself that much.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything. Even yourself.” His tone warms. “If it gets overwhelming, say ‘stop’ or ‘no.’”

“I will.”

“Good. Now light that candle.”

I drag in a ragged breath, hoping like hell that I’m not making a terrible mistake in trusting Tyler to guide me through this.

I double check the lock on the door, take the lighter from my handbag—which is well-stocked with mace, a Swiss Army knife, an incredibly loud whistle, and several other items I’ve taken to carrying around.

I place the candle on the nightstand and flick the lighter above it until the flame transfers to the wick.

“Have you done it?” he asks, his voice rough.

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