Will you tell me if I ask? He stood in my bedroom doorway and stared behind me at the window. “Curtains. Close them.” I loved the way he’d commanded me, how he was trying to shirk off his shyness. It made my knees weak and my cunt ache even more. I turned and went to do as he’d asked, then stopped and said over my shoulder, “Only if you’ll tell me your name.” “You were right earlier. It’s Henry. Now close the curtains.” I smiled and, taking a moment once I’d shut out the night, sucked in a deep breath and fought off the urge to pinch myself that my bloody God, this was finally happening. I turned to face him, the bed between us, a huge, huge barrier, and glanced at it then back to him. “Get on,” he said, jerking his head at the bed. “Get your clothes off and get on.” I hadn’t undressed for a man in a long time. Before tonight it had been when I was larger—and under the cover of darkness, beneath the sheets. I just had to hope this newfound courage that was surging inside was enough to carry me through.
