Kiss the Sky (Calloway Sisters #1)(61)

He acts like he’s going to tip the wine bottle accidentally onto my white-laced bedspread. My heart jumps into my throat, and fear bulges my eyes.

He grins and then puts the bottle to his lips, taking a large swig. The wine and tequila are strategic. I need more liquid courage than him, and I’d rather be buzzed. I’ve never seen Connor drunk, which means he could very well turn into an inebriated asshole. Someone I do not want to play truth or dare with. But it’s a risk I’ll take.

“Truth or dare?” I ask him after another sip of tequila. The liquor slides sharply down my throat, but I’m too nervous to care. Normal couples who share a bed would be fine playing truth or dare together. Another piece of evidence that I am not normal. We are not normal.

He doesn’t blink. “Truth.”

I don’t want to ease in. “What’s your favorite position?”

“I won’t hurt you,” he says, reading into my question. “I know you’re nervous to have sex, but I promise I’ll be…” He smiles at his own thought. “…no that’s not quite right.”

“You were about to say gentle, weren’t you?”

His lips rise further, validating my assumption.

The aftertaste of tequila sticks to my tongue, and my head dizzies at the idea of Connor being anything but gentle. I’m not the softest girl, so the image of being handled by a soft, careful boy makes me squirm.

“I promise I’ll be me,” he says, grinning into his next swig of wine.

“It’s a good thing I like you then.” My voice is still icy. The alcohol hasn’t kicked in just yet.

“Like me? Qu’en est-il de l’amour?” What happened to love?

“You don’t believe in love,” I retort. “So you’ve lost the right for me to love you back.” I nod assuredly at this new stance I’m taking. “But I still like you. Don’t worry.”

“I never worry,” he says. “I do believe in love. When I was a child I thought it wasn’t real, but I’ve come to see that it does exist for some people. Just not me.”

Right. He can’t love anyone. He’s too analytical, I suppose. I’ve come to accept it, but there’s a part of me that wants so badly to be his first love the way he’s mine. His hand keeps descending, gripping my ass above my silk nightgown. I tip the bottle of Patron against my mouth, taking half a shot.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say.

“What’s my favorite position?”

“Yes.”

“I have a lot of favorites.”

“Choose one, Richard,” I snap.

He smiles. “Missionary…with a few alterations.”

“What alterations?”

His lips just curve higher, as if he’s partaking in a personal inside joke. I kind of want to punch him for the smirk, but I also want Connor to kiss me roughly. It’s an odd mixture that’s pounding my head.

At least he doesn’t want me to ride his dick like a sexy dominatrix. I don’t think I could confidently pull that off. It’s not something I’ve ever visualized either. Although when people meet me, I know it’s their first assumption, their first wild picture. Of me in stilettos, a heel at a man’s throat. All these years, I believed in the stereotype too. That to be a strong, confident woman outside the bedroom, I’d have to be as equally dominant inside. It’s a reason why I rarely brought guys back to my apartment in college. Because I’d disappoint them. And I’d rather shove them out of my door and be called an ice cold bitch than be laughed at for not making good on their fantasies.

We’re all more than we appear to be.

“Truth or dare?” His question pops my thoughts.

“Truth.”

“What’s your strangest fantasy?”

“I change my mind. I choose dare,” I say quickly.

He laughs. “Play by the rules, darling.”

“Dare,” I repeat, not backing down.

“Fine. I’ll let you cheat this once.”

Cheat. That is a vile word, but I stay my course.

“I dare you…” His eyes flit around the room before landing back on me. “To answer my question.” He full-on grins.

“You’re terrible,” I deadpan.

“You love me. Even if you won’t say it anymore.”

“Maybe.” Ugh. I stare at my traitorous bottle of Patron for loosening my lips and deteriorating my brain.

His hand dips further to my ass, and he pulls me so close that I realize I’m sitting on his lap, my legs sprawled to the side. He combs the hair off my neck and places a light kiss on my nape. He watches how my body shivers from the touch, warms from the alcohol, and dizzies from his closeness.

“You wanted to play this game,” he reminds me. “Somewhere in your heart, you wanted these things to be revealed.”

I did. And that’s why I had the alcohol. To build my courage. I take another small sip, my lips wet with the liquor. He rubs his thumb across them, slowly. As my breath hitches, he puts his thumb in his mouth, tasting the tequila.

“My strangest fantasy?” I repeat, studying him like he’s the most interesting specimen in the universe. To me, he most definitely is. When the answer suddenly hits me, I pale. I’m not even close enough to being that drunk to tell him. But I can’t lie. I hate cheaters so damn much. “Ask me something else.”