“Mirth.” Christoph touches my back gently.
I wanted to continue holding his hand as we walked from the clubhouse, but didn’t. I meet Christoph’s steady, verging-on-intense gaze, stepping just a little closer than appropriate.Because I like the way he looms over me. I try to match his serious tone, but with just a little lightness. “Christoph.”
His brow furrows, then smooths when he picks up my teasing tenor. He presses his fingertips into my back a little more firmly, then flattens his hand so it covers my entire lower back.
I know it’s not terribly progressive of me, but I still love, absolutely adore, that I’m so tiny next to him.
“I’ve never …” He clears his throat quietly. Again.
“You’ve never?” I echo playfully. I like watching his throat move when he swallows.
“Right, yes. I’ve never …”
I hear his hesitation then. And finally, it filters into my silly brain what he might be trying to say. My eyes fly up to meet his. “You’ve never?!”
He flushes. “No. I mean, yes, of course. I’ve had sex. Tried it a few different … when I wasn’t … when it wasn’t what I thought it should be … what everyone else seems to think it …”
“We don’t have to talk about this,” I say quietly.
“I want …” He runs a hand through his hair, his bicep flexing so much that it appears to be about to rip through his suit jacket.
Oh, fuck, I’m ogling him. Again. He’s trying to tell me something, about sex, or not being interested in a sexual relationship. And I’ve completely misunderstood.
Except how could I have misunderstood? With the peaches, the handholding. He stroked my ass in the car park! I’ve clearly read too much into all of that. Or maybe it’s going too fast for him.
I take a step back, leveling my gaze on his chest, then his shoulder, because I’m not sure I can look him in the eye. Mortification floods through me. I take another measured step back. “I … I’m … so sorry. I … would never …” I press my hands to my face. This is why he asked Roz for a moment alone.
“Mirth?”
I drop my hands. I get a fucking hold on myself. Breathing in, then lifting my chin and smiling. “Christoph?”
“Don’t fucking do that,” Christoph says, pained.
I narrow my eyes at him because that sounds an awful lot like an order.
“Listen …” He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m not great with words. I’m not expressing myself very well.”
“I understood perfectly. Thank you for clarifying.”
“I haven’t fucking said anything yet, Mirth. And you’re doing that thing, that thing that twists through my chest, so obviously you don’t understand what I haven’t even said yet.”
I blink a little, not completely following.
“See?” he growls. Then, hands on hips, he huffs.
“Why did you watch?” I cry out before I can censor myself.
“Watch?”
“Elias … and me … this morning …” Ugh, now my chest is aching too.
Christoph rears back a bit, blinking at me in disbelief. “Because it was fucking hot! So fucking hot I had to leave to jerk off in the shower. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve needed to regularly jerk off? Let alone had to remove myself so I didn’t just … whip it out and come all over your tits without invitation?”
I just stare at him, incredibly confused. But also surprisingly aroused.
Christoph cups his hand over his mouth, closes his eyes, and exhales heavily. “Fuck,” he mutters. “This … this is what I don’t know how to do. The … wooing part.”
“Well,” I say, my voice a little shaky, “it seems slightly rushed, seeing as we’ve barely kissed. But would you like an open invitation to come all over my tits?”
