“That may be,” he says, but he feels his own hesitation in a way he’s immediately self-conscious about. He doesn’t want her to feel poorly, but he’s been feeling too tender towards her to have much of a poker face. Gently: “I’d like to discuss what that means when I’m not already on top of you…”
He looks at the floor for a long moment, and then he sits, obediently. The playful intimacy is gone, leaving him full of shame and dread, forced to think about what they’re doing.
“That night many months ago, when I came home and wasn’t myself,” he says. “I stalked outside your room, and when you came to me anyway, I tore your gown and plundered you mercilessly.”
This sweet man. She smiles, surprised that she feels a sting behind her eyes. She's fortunate to have someone that is so careful with her.
"The list of things I want with you is infinite, Clive. We can afford to skip some," she reassures, squeezing his hand. "Please, believe me when I tell you that."
"When you ask things of me, it makes me happy," she says slowly, hoping that hearing the words helps in some manner. "And you feeling uncomfortable with something... it doesn't upset me or disappoint me, Clive. I am just as happy and satisfied simply existing in your arms."
“I know you are,” he says, shifting in his seat to face her a little more. “But I still want to take care of you however I can, and if you are content with what I hesitate to do, then the problem lies with me.”
"You do take care of me," she reminds him. When he's not breaking the face of her best friend, that is. Jill sighs, but remains patient. "There's no problem here, Clive. You would be upset if I spoke this way about myself and my hesitations."
“You have never hesitated this way,” he says. He can tell she’s annoyed the moment she sighs, and he knows why. “Jill. I don’t want to hesitate. I want to overcome this… my apprehensions about my own desires, and yours as well.”
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"I'd like to discuss that as well... is that appropriate cheeseburger conversation?" She asks with a laugh and a touch to his cheek.
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They were supposed to talk about these things more before falling into bed together.
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"That sort of conversation. This. Us," she says, patiently. "We have a bad habit of... postponing conversations."
At least no one else can force these.
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“And then the moment passes, and we’re hesitant to spoil another by bringing it up later.”
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"Then... let us talk about it, Clive. I don't want that for us anymore. No more fear of ruining what we have, even just in the moment."
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They can push through to lunch after. Hopefully.
"We can't be afraid of talking."
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He just asks: “Why do you want me to hurt you?”
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"Hurt me? How?"
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“That night many months ago, when I came home and wasn’t myself,” he says. “I stalked outside your room, and when you came to me anyway, I tore your gown and plundered you mercilessly.”
He looks at her, apprehensive.
“And you liked it. You wanted more.”
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"I did like it. There was pain, but it... you weren't hurting me, Clive."
That's not what she's now concerned about.
"I enjoyed that you gave into your desires. That's all."
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“I don’t know if I can put my hands on you like that in my right mind,” he says.
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"Then don't. It's that simple."
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"The list of things I want with you is infinite, Clive. We can afford to skip some," she reassures, squeezing his hand. "Please, believe me when I tell you that."
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“I do not know what to do, then,” he says.
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To her, it's no issue at all.
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He never offers himself any grace or kindness.
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