I'm torn between telling him he's an asshole and begging him to make the idea a reality because it both hurts and arouses me.

There is no better time to begin than right now. David changes his hands and pushes me to my feet, lifting me effortlessly to the bed. He places me on it with more care than I'd like, but he quickly improves it by looping my hair around his fist and angling my head back with the resulting grasp. His attention is stuck on my lips. When he mutters, "Hardly know where to start," I get the idea that he's speaking to no one in particular.

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