"You just like to watch, baby? Then I'll give you something to watch. I'll tie your ass to that bed and make you watch me for hours. You'll be begging to touch me by the time I'm done."
"Good," I say. "I hope you get a wrist cramp."
He laughs. "You're such a snarky little thing. It's one of the things I like most about you."
"Unlike my cuteness and flat chest."
"Really?" He groans. "Throwing this in my face again? My body is still covered in those tattoos you hate. Do I keep throwing it in your face?"
"I like your tattoos now," I admit. "Can you please stop being naked?" I can't even think straight with his cock dangling inches from my face.
"Is that really what you want?"
"Yes."
He leans down and blows out the candle, picks up the towel, and goes to his dresser to get a pair of boxers.
"So you like the ink now?" he asks as he slips his shorts on.
"I like it more than I did at first."
He crosses the dark room and climbs into the bed beside me. "Well, I guess that’s a start."
"It is." I wonder if he's mad at me for watching him and for not touching him. "Are you starting to get sick of me?" I ask him.
"Sick of you? We've been together less than a month. If I'm sick of you already, then we're gonna have some serious problems."
"So, is that a no, then?"
"That's a no, then. I'm not sick of you. I wish I understood you, but I'm not sick of you."
"I'm sorry. I know I can be difficult."
He sighs. "It's okay. I'm no walk in the park either. I told you I'd be patient with you, so I'm trying to be."
"Thank you."
We lie in the darkness, listening to each other breathing. This is our third night sleeping in our new house together, and I'm still not quite used to it. It still has that hotel-ish feeling to me.