“I’m glad.” I lightly touched his cheek, feeling the stubble under my fingertips. “So did I.”
“But you…uh…you never did it again.”
I felt color heat my own cheeks. “You never told me to.”
“I never…Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, kid. I never had to tell you to make love with me either, but…Oh, fuck.” He stared at me, the color of his eyes growing even darker with shock, and I wondered what I had done wrong. “It just dawned on me. You’ve never—never once—touched me.”
I let out a breath of relief. That was just plain silly. “Mr. Chetwood, I’ve touched you plenty of times. I touch you all the time.”
“Not sexually, Johnny. Not unless I’ve touched you first. Why?” It was a cry of distress. “Have you even liked what I’ve done to you?”
“Of course I’ve liked what you’ve done. How can you ask me tha
