How Old Are You?
Chapter 192: How Old Are You?
Reese
I didn’t see Elizabeth for a few hours after Savannah and my brother left. Honestly, it was a relief. Yesterday morning I'd been so reckless and carried away that I nearly fucked her.
Thank God I managed to stop myself. What was I even thinking?
So I hid in the kitchen like a sensible adult man in survival mode, halfway through my bowl of cereal, when she finally walked in.
She didn’t knock. Didn’t clear her throat. Didn’t glance around shyly like someone who’d almost had sex with a stranger in this very house a day ago.
She just walked in—hair in a messy ponytail, glasses sliding down her nose, oversized shirt hanging dangerously off her shoulder—and asked one question. “Aren’t you going to say anything to me?”
No greeting. No warm-up. Just a straight-up confrontation at ten in the morning.
To be honest, I knew this moment was coming. Girls like her always do this thing—they treat a single makeout session like it’s fate. Suddenly we’re spiritually connected, bonded at the soul, destined lovers meeting again in another lifetime. Some cosmic bullshit.
I shoveled another spoonful of cereal into my mouth. “Good morning, Elizabeth?” I said with a shrug. “Are you hungry? Would you like a bowl of cereal?”
“It’s not about that.” Her voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that I wasn't expecting from her. “It’s about that morning.”
Yeah. There it was. That morning.
The morning she ground her pussy against me like she was starving. The morning her moans nearly made me lose control. The morning I had to tear myself away before we crossed a line neither of us could pretend didn’t exist.
Of course she wanted to talk about it. Of course she did. I played dumb anyway. Pretending ignorance has never failed me.
“I told you you could come with us to Blackwood Manor,” I said, deliberately sidestepping. “Just do as I say.”
“That’s not it either.” She crossed her arms, and Jesus Christ—her tits pushed up in a way that made my eyes betray me instantly. One second I was a rational man eating cereal, the next I was a feral animal fighting the urge to attack as my cock stirred in my pants.
“I’m talking about what we did.”
“What about it, darling?” I asked. “We both had fun, didn’t we? You more than I did, if memory serves me well.”
Her cheeks flushed instantly—heat radiating off her like an open flame. “I’m not denying that,” she muttered. “You’re very… skilled and I—”
I held up a hand, exhaling. Time to cut this off before she said something that would lodge itself into my brain for days.
“Look, you've got a great body, amazing tits and you're really fucking hot.” I sighed. “But if you’re looking for love, you’re knocking on the wrong damn door. You’re staring at the wrong guy. I’m a mess, darling. You don’t want all that.”
I sat back, prepared. Ready for the screaming. Ready for tears. Ready for her to call me an asshole or a user or whatever women called men who refused to fall in love after kissing them.
But instead, she blinked at me like I was the one being dramatic. “Love? Who’s talking about love here?” she asked, startled.
That made me pause. I arched a brow.
“I’m not asking you for love, Reese.”
“Then what are you asking for?” I scoffed. “Attention? A handwritten apology for stopping before things got carried away?”
“Sex.”
Everything in the universe stopped.
The spoon froze halfway to my mouth. My brain disconnected from my spine. My lungs forgot how to work. Even the refrigerator sound cut off like it was leaning in to eavesdrop.
“Come again?” I said, truly hoping my ears were broken.
She didn’t blush. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t look away.
Instead, she stepped closer like she wasn’t asking for sex but negotiating a business deal.
“You liked what we did, didn’t you?” she asked plainly. “So what’s stopping you from going all the way? Why did you stop that morning, Reese? And don’t you dare say I wasn’t ready because you know I was. You got cold feet? Is that it? Don't even bother with that excuse because I felt how much you wanted me.”
The breath punched out of me.
I had no idea how to react to that level of honesty. I’ve dealt with clingy girls, shy girls, loud girls, girls who claim they’re not like other girls while being exactly like other girls—but this?
This was new territory.
Usually, I’m the one in control. Usually, I decide when the game starts and ends. Usually, I’m the hunter. Never the hunted.
But Elizabeth? Elizabeth put down the rulebook, tossed it into the fireplace, and asked me who I thought I was kidding.
“Well?” she asked, adjusting her glasses with maddening calm. “Say something, Reese.”
“What the hell do you expect me to say?” I muttered. “You caught me off guard.”
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “But I needed answers. And I needed them fast.”
I swallowed another spoonful of cereal, trying to gather my brain cells—when a thought slammed into me so hard I nearly choked.
A very terrifying, sanity-ending thought.
“Elizabeth?” I asked slowly, dropping my spoon into the bowl. My palms suddenly felt sweaty.
“Yes?”
“I know this is a little too late to ask but…” I hesitated, because this was a line no man ever wants to cross. “How old are you, Elizabeth?”
She blinked. “Why do you ask?”
“Can you answer, please?”
My heart hammered. Because if she said eighteen—or God forbid, seventeen—I was going to fling myself off the nearest balcony.
I swear, if I’d accidentally messed around with a teenager out for bragging rights of banging an older guy, I’d throttle Savannah and Roman for letting her within a mile of me.
“I’m twenty-two,” she said, brows knitting. “Why? Are you into younger girls or something?”
Half-relief. Half panic. “Can you show me an ID?” I asked.
She shot me a murderous glare, grabbed her phone, and shoved the digital image of her ID in my face. “There. Is that enough proof? Or wait… you thought I was a teenager?”
Her voice cracked in realization.
I exhaled like I’d just survived a near-death experience. “Exactly.”
“Well, I’m not,” she snapped. “I’m an adult. So?” She shrugged. “Back to our earlier conversation—”
I held up a hand. “No, no, no. We’re not skipping past this. Why do you want to have sex with me so badly, Elizabeth?”
She stared at me. Not shy. Not flustered. Not coy. Just… assessing me quietly. Carefully. Like she was deciding how much of herself to reveal.
And for the first time that morning, I felt something cold slide down my spine. It wasn't fear nor dread. It was something worse.
Anticipation.
She took a slow breath, stepped closer, and rested her hands on the counter, leaning in just slightly, eyes locked on mine. “You really want to know?” she asked softly.
My mouth went dry. Because yes, I wanted to know. But something told me I wasn’t prepared for her answer.