I thought of my father’s question.
“Do I want to know what he does for a living?”
There was knowing there. Because my father was shrewd and he’d spent many years around all kinds of people with all kinds of money.
He knew the value of plausible deniability.
Me? I did not.
“If we’re going to do this,” I gestured between us, “like really do this, I need to know everything. I’m not going to be content only knowing the sanitized, official version of your life, your job. I need to know every detail, even the things you think I can’t handle.” My gaze sharpened on his. “Especially the things you think I can’t handle.”
Karson held my eyes for a long moment, perhaps measuring how serious I was. That or deciding whether or not he could tell me all the shady things about his life.
“There’s nothing I think you can’t handle,” he said quietly.
My eyes widened in surprise, and something warm encircled my heart.
Karson folded his arms across his chest, and my eyes flickered to the way his muscles bulged as he did that, momentarily distracted and turned on.
“If I tell you everything, there’s no going back,” he continued, voice husky, most likely having seen the spark of hunger in my eyes. This man knew my every gesture, every expression, just like I knew his. Even though his were much more subtle than mine.
My eyes found his once more, hungry, intense, knowing. “Honey, you’ve got my fucking name tattooed on your chest. I’m pretty sure there’s no going back.”
The harsh angles in his face softened with my words, his expression turning far less grave and far more tender.
He stepped forward, grasping my hips and yanking me to him so our bodies were flush. I relaxed into him, my body molding into his.
One hand left my hip to tilt my chin up so my eyes met his.
“You just called me honey,” he said.
I blinked at him, surprised.
“First time you’ve called me that,” he said, the words yanking the ground from under me. It felt as if Karson wasn’t holding me, I would’ve tumbled down into nothingness. Had I really been that determined to hold him at arm’s length that this was such a big deal to him? An offhand endearment that he held in his hand like it was the most precious thing in the world.
Fuck, I could be a total fucking bitch.
I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. The truth seemed like the best course of action, but the mere thought of verbalizing it scared me. Fucking terrified me. It was like jumping out of a plane without knowing for sure if your parachute was going to inflate.
I focused on Karson, the depth behind those dark eyes of his. The soft grip of his fingers on my chin, the reassuring strength of his hand at my hip, his smell that immediately relaxed me, made me feel safe.
I took a deep breath. Karson watched me silently, waiting without any outward signs of impatience. Like he would stand here, waiting for me to gain the courage to tell him the truth for the rest of his fucking life.
“I know you’re probably going to get all alpha male furious at me mentioning the men who came before you,” I started, trying to force my voice to sound firm yet teasing at the same time. “I know you men secretly want untouched virgins at the same time you want to be able to sample whomever you want as many times as you want before you find the right one. And it’s probably going to piss you off, but for the sake of clarity, I have to talk about it.”
Karson’s expression didn’t change, no fury danced in his eyes. If anything, the corners of them crinkled just a bit. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Sweetheart, I don’t give a fuck how many men came before me, especially because I know they didn’t get what I’m getting. I know you didn’t give them what you give me.”
My nostrils flared, annoyed. And also absolutely fucking floored at the softness of his tone. “Of course,” I muttered. “Of course, I ramp up to tell you my big honest truth, and of course, you already fucking know it.”
The corner of his eyes crinkled tighter. “Sorry, baby.” He pretended to be chastised. “I’ll let you finish.”
I scowled at him. “What’s the point?”
His face turned serious. “The point is, I want to fuckin’ hear it.”
I pursed my lips, eager to step out of his arms. He was pissing me off yet turning me on at the same time, and I felt especially vulnerable. I knew that if I tried to move, Karson’s grip would become iron.
“Fine,” I huffed. “With all the men who came before you, I called them honey, baby, sweet-cheeks … what the fuck ever because it didn’t mean anything. They didn’t mean anything. It was all surface.” I took a breath, desperate to look down, not wanting to have to make such declarations while looking into Karson’s eyes. But I knew the second my eyes went downward, the pressure on my chin would tighten. And I liked that. Karson held me accountable. Didn’t let me run.