The moment the question was out of his mouth, Foreman had second thoughts. Maybe it would be better not to know. If Amber was still here, then it couldn't be that big a deal. Next time they'd get it right, and he'd keep his mouth shut during sex, that was all.
He didn't know what to do with the fact that, in essence, Amber told him he'd been too good. He hadn't heard that before, and he didn't know whether to be flattered or uncomfortable with the idea. He liked to think he could read women well, and know how far he could go. With Amber, on one level she was constantly pushing him to go farther than he'd ever expected, and yet sometimes she could hang back even from kissing him. Foreman hated uncertainty; he knew what was right, what he wanted, and he usually went forward with no room for deviation. Amber was still a mystery, and Foreman didn't like the sense that he was hemming and hawing around her, shifting his weight but unable to make a decision and take a direction.
He tried not to jump in with explanations or questions, letting Amber finish. He'd been right, in a sense, that she couldn't let him take the initiative, impose what he wanted on her. That left him feeling powerless, too, and wondering if he'd always have to hold back himself in order to be careful of her. He could try, anyway. The important thing was that she'd told him. She'd trusted him. Foreman's heart thumped harder, and he wondered if Amber could hear it from where she was pressed against his chest. "Feels like that for me, too," he admitted, bending to speak against the top of her head, his lips pressed there in a kiss. He breathed softly. He still didn't want to admit what had passed through his mind. He hated being wrong, and on absolutely zero evidence, he knew he'd feel like an idiot telling her.
Maybe she felt that way, too. It seemed so, from the way she'd spoken. She'd apologized again, and he truly didn't want her to. He'd seen on her face the way she felt when she thought she'd made a bad choice, and he didn't want to put that look there. "Did you really want to know?" he said. He winced. "It's not...it was stupid."
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He didn't know what to do with the fact that, in essence, Amber told him he'd been too good. He hadn't heard that before, and he didn't know whether to be flattered or uncomfortable with the idea. He liked to think he could read women well, and know how far he could go. With Amber, on one level she was constantly pushing him to go farther than he'd ever expected, and yet sometimes she could hang back even from kissing him. Foreman hated uncertainty; he knew what was right, what he wanted, and he usually went forward with no room for deviation. Amber was still a mystery, and Foreman didn't like the sense that he was hemming and hawing around her, shifting his weight but unable to make a decision and take a direction.
He tried not to jump in with explanations or questions, letting Amber finish. He'd been right, in a sense, that she couldn't let him take the initiative, impose what he wanted on her. That left him feeling powerless, too, and wondering if he'd always have to hold back himself in order to be careful of her. He could try, anyway. The important thing was that she'd told him. She'd trusted him. Foreman's heart thumped harder, and he wondered if Amber could hear it from where she was pressed against his chest. "Feels like that for me, too," he admitted, bending to speak against the top of her head, his lips pressed there in a kiss. He breathed softly. He still didn't want to admit what had passed through his mind. He hated being wrong, and on absolutely zero evidence, he knew he'd feel like an idiot telling her.
Maybe she felt that way, too. It seemed so, from the way she'd spoken. She'd apologized again, and he truly didn't want her to. He'd seen on her face the way she felt when she thought she'd made a bad choice, and he didn't want to put that look there. "Did you really want to know?" he said. He winced. "It's not...it was stupid."