29

From the way she’s carefully looking away, but holding tightly to my hand, I’m going to guess she does know she wants to try it, but she’s afraid to say so.

It’s my goal to get her to admit she wants it.

Enthusiastic consent, Rule Number One.

“I want to touch you,” I say.

“Do you always get everything you want?” she asks, attitude in her voice.

Oh, fuck yes. Brattiness. I love it. I can see that her attitude is meant as a defense mechanism. She’s on uneven ground, and this whole proposition, this entire evening, is probably disconcerting to her.

“I don’t always get what I want, but I think I will tonight,” I say. “Let me touch you, princess.”

“You are touching me.”

I look down to where our hands join, then I slowly slide my fingers along her arm, past her elbow, and up to her shoulder. From there, I start back down, tucking my fingertip into the front of her dress.

“Tell me if this is okay with you,” I whisper.

She doesn’t say anything. I stop moving my hand.

“Hey,” I say. “Waiting on