ANNY
Oliver’s hand remains at my waist.
“Before anything happens,” he says, “I need to know why you want this.”
“Because I want you.”
“Not because of the contract?”
“I want to break the power it has over us. But I’m not offering you my body to punish my father.”
His thumb moves once against my dress.
“And not because you think you owe me something?”
“I don’t owe you forgiveness, gratitude, or sex.”
“You don’t.”
“I’m choosing this because it belongs to me.” I bring his hand closer. “And right now, I’m choosing you.”
The restraint in Oliver’s face gives way.
He kisses me on the dock, one hand at my waist and the other cradling the back of my neck. His mouth is demanding, but every movement leaves space for me to answer.
I do.
I slide my arms around him and taste the breath he r
