I looked back to the wetsuit and the snow globe.

“Great,” I bit out, still angry about the sudden change of topic. “Thank you.”

“Anything else you want for your birthday?”

I smoothed a hand over the wetsuit, smiling at it absentmindedly. “It’s more than enough, really. You made my day.” My year.

He leaned forward, and we were close. Too close. Close enough for me to fantasize about what might happen. Close enough for me to get the wrong idea. I leaned back, afraid I’d kiss him and make a fool of myself.

“What?” I swallowed. His eyes were heavy in the same way they’d been in the storage room, but also different. The agony was deeper, more profound.

We’re just a helium balloon waiting to pop, every breath bringing us a step closer.

“You could ask for anything,” he enunciated, and I knew what he was shooting for. A kiss. But I was done begging. My father had once said that affection shouldn’t be asked for. It is not a reward, but a necessity.

“Anything?” I batted my eyelashes. He leaned closer still, the heat of his body seeping into mine. My chest was tight, my limbs jelly. Everything was backward and weird. Illogical, yet made perfect sense.

“Anything.” His voice was a soft snarl, his lips inches from mine. And it was tempting, but I had to do it. For my self-esteem. For the way the power was distributed between us in our relationship.

“Then I want you to show me your ass. Seems unfair that the maze got to see it, but I didn’t.”

It took him a few seconds to recover, jerk away, and stand up, but to Roman’s credit, he did it without as much as a grumble.

He lifted a warning finger in my direction before twisting to show me his back. “Is this going to turn into a case where you’ll fall so deeply in love with my ass, I will have to file a restraining order against you?”

I braced myself on my forearms, a cocky smile on my face. “I can’t commit to an answer, but I’ll try my best not to become a stalker.”

He shrugged. “Worst-case scenario—it’d be nice to have someone tell me a day before I run out of beer.”

He turned around and pulled his cargo pants down, not bothering to twist his head and see my reaction. I gulped. His tight, muscular ass had a skull dripping blood down to his thigh, three skeletons holdings surfboards and smiling, and another, third tattoo, that said “Cool Story, Bro.”

“Tell me the story,” I said. He tugged his pants up and rounded my bed, sliding in again, fitting perfectly next to me like that’s where he belonged. We were tucked next to each other.

“I lost a bet.”

“You’re kidding me.” My jaw dropped, but he just pulled one shoulder in an I-fucking-wish shrug.

I blinked, giving him a soft shove. “Who inks something like that on their ass because their friends told them to?”

“Someone who doesn’t give two shits and never misses an opportunity to do something stupid,” he quipped, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. I grabbed his hand, dragged it to my mouth and kissed his open palm. He nearly flinched, and it saddened me. He’d slept with so many women, but I wondered when the last time he’d been kissed on the knuckles, hugged in the rain, or had been loved the way everyone deserved to be loved.

“You need to respect your body more, Roman. The tattoos. The women. You can say no. You’re so screwed up over this.” This was his father. This was like The Incident. Mental scars are like Lord Voldemort. They shall not be spoken.

He pretended to flatten the collar of my oversized shirt with his hand, looking down at it when he said, “Tell you what. I’ll stop treating my body like it’s a frat house, if you promise to stop treating yours like it’s made of marshmallow and sin. Come surf with me tomorrow.”

I laughed. “And if I do?”

“Then I won’t get any more stupid-ass tattoos. Pun intended.”

“Not fair. You don’t have any more space for them, anyway.”

He stroked his chin then pointed at his smooth, shaven face. “I do now.”

I swatted his chest. “I’ll kill you.”

“Trust me, baby. You’re already halfway there.”

“What does that mean?” I purred.

He looked serious as hell. “It means I can’t stay away from you, and at this point, I know I fucking should.”

I swallowed, but didn’t reply.

I was walking the tightrope of not wanting to beg and not wanting him to leave.

Roman asked me to get back to reading, and I did. We were tucked together like sardines while I read the book aloud, finishing the chapter, then I turned off the light, twisted to my corner of the bed, and closed my eyes.

He wrapped his arm around me, and I grinned into the darkness when his cock met my ass again, grinding very slowly, torturing the both of us. My skin tingled and my sex felt achingly empty as his hard six-pack brushed along my back. He was rubbing all against me, and my mouth watered with need.