AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Emma thought about her predictable, staid boyfriend, Devin. He’d never been interested in how she felt about sex. It was always quick, the same position, with him coming in about two minutes, just when she was starting to get warmed up. Emma blamed herself: she never complained about it, and they’d just got stuck in this terrible kind of rhythm. But she didn’t know how to talk about it without hurting his feelings, so she didn’t.
Now Mr. X was waiting for her answer. And why not be honest? After all, he was right: they probably would never meet again. Even if they didn’t have sex tonight, what did she have to lose?
“He never let me...come first.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt a little bit lighter. Admitting that—the first time she’d admitted it to anyone—felt like a burden had been lifted. Like she’d finally let go of a dirty secret.
Mr. X stared at her. “He always came first?” He looked shocked, even bewildered as his dark eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
She nodded and took another drink of her gin and tonic, the second cocktail heading to her head with rapid speed. She felt pleasantly light-headed, but didn’t know if that was the Hendrick’s or Mr. X’s eyes on her.
Her experience limited, Emma thought maybe that was how it went with most men: they’d do what they wanted first, and then if they had the energy left over, they’d handle the woman’s needs.
“That’s unacceptable.” The finality of his tone sent another little thrill through her. “I’d make sure you came at least three times.”
“Three times?” She nearly spit out her drink. “That’s a lot.”
“Not nearly enough.” He grinned, and his bright white smile in his tanned face seemed blinding. “But we’d have all night.”
“All night?” Devin subscribed to the one and done philosophy. She doubted sex had ever lasted for her longer than about twenty minutes, and that was a marathon.
“And, of course, all positions. We have to find the one that’s right for you.” A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his full mouth.
Emma felt the blush inch its way up her neck. She wasn’t even sure she knew all the positions. The thought was a bit naughty...and a bit thrilling. She was beginning to see the allure of anonymous sex. She wouldn’t have to worry about what she looked like from certain vantage points, a concern that nearly always plagued her, or whether or not she ought to suck in her stomach. X was a stranger, and would remain a stranger, so why worry about... any of the normal things she worried about?
She ran her finger around the lip of her glass. “I’m beginning to see why women would want to fall into bed with you right when they meet you.”
He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “Well, I can tell you this. If you do, you won’t be disappointed.” She felt the warmth of his breath on her ear and the delicious naughtiness of the whole situation delighted her. She liked flirting—scratch that—loved flirting with this man. She even found herself seriously considering his proposition.
“Somehow, I believe you.”
“You should.” His confident gaze never left her. He slowly reached out and took her hand. He held it palm up, running a strong finger down her life line. “I like to start slowly. Explore you. Like so.” His delicate, featherlike touch sent electric sparks darting upward. Goose bumps ran up her arm. “Every woman is different, and I’d spend a lot of time finding out how unique you are.”
“Just how many women have you...” She figured probably hundreds. With eyes like that and a body that seemed ready for an underwear ad. She thought he probably got laid anytime he wanted it. Women lining up on Nost to have a drink date.
He cocked his head to one side, looking coy. “I’ve had my share.”
Now he was so close to her that when she looked up, she almost felt like she could fall into his gaze, a pool of hazel with flecks of gold. So close to him, she inhaled his spicy sweet scent, like cinnamon with a hint of some woodsy aftershave. He looked good. Smelled good. I wonder if he tastes good, too.
The thought jolted her.
“I’m not usually so impulsive.”
“Why not?” He wasn’t being flippant, she could tell. He really wanted to know.
“I don’t know. I guess I worry about what people will think.” There, she’d said it. It was her dirty little secret: she cared about other people’s opinions. She spent a great deal of time writing in her articles about how women need to believe in themselves and be independent, and yet, she feared the weight of judgment herself.
