Page 22 of The Bachelor

“The only thing I know about you sexually is how your lips taste.” His legs spread as he settled over the cushion, his drink resting on one of his thighs. “I don’t know what you like. What makes your pussy wet. What makes you come.” His hand lifted his glass and paused midair. “You have made yourself come, haven’t you?”

The embarrassment swept in, and it took me a moment to respond. “Yes.” But the previous statement, the one about my likes and wetness, I couldn’t tell if he wanted answers to those. “Do you want me to tell you what I like?”

“No.” He shook his head, thumbing his lips to dry them after he took a drink. “I want you to show me.”

I felt the redness move over my cheeks; the tingles slid into my chest and pulsed like electricity. “Show you?”

He rested further into the couch, like he was at the movies, and at any second, he was going to extend his legs and recline. “Yes.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

He slipped his phone out of his pocket, and after pressing the screen several times, I realized he was adjusting the lights. The ones in the kitchen dimmed; only the pendants that hung above the island were now aglow. The lamps in the living room were also turned down, but the brightness he did increase was from the lights built into the tray ceiling above.

That was when I really processed this whole setup. With the ceiling lights acting like a spotlight, my reflection could be seen on the windows to the right of me, giving him a whole other angle to watch.

“You want me to do this right here?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I glanced toward the tall panes of glass. “Can anyone see in?”

His stare intensified, something I could still see since he was under the lit-up tray. “Would that stop you?”

“Everything is threatening to stop me,” I said honestly.

I’d never done anything like this before. The thought of him seeing me come was completely overwhelming.

“I thought you could handle this, Oaklyn.”

There it was—his motive.

Every bit of this was a test.

And I had a feeling he didn’t just want to see if I’d complete his request; he also wanted to see how I’d react when it was over. If I would need that soft tenderness that we’d talked about, if I would be clingy and needy and wanting more of him emotionally, or if I could be the strong woman who needed absolutely nothing from him.

“I can,” I whispered.

“Prove that to me.”

I took a deep breath. “Let me make sure I get what you’re asking. You want me to masturbate on this couch, in front of you, and come.”

“Naked.”

Naked.

That meant I had to strip off my clothes, like I was putting on a show for him, giving a full view of my body and the spot no man had ever been inside of.

“But if you can’t do it,” he said, “we can stop now and forget you ever propositioned me—”

“I can do it.”

Except, deep down, I wanted to die.

I wanted to bury myself in more clothes to hide every part of me.

The idea of his eyes on me while I unveiled my body, while I slid a finger between my legs, while I came … it was too much.

“What are you waiting for, Oaklyn?” He kicked his legs onto the ottoman, even crossing them, one arm going behind his head as though it were a pillow.

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