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“Wait, you can’t either?”
She shook her head and reached for her soda, thumbing off the cap and tipping the bottle back for a long drink. “I think the female orgasm is a myth. I’m considering writing a book. I’m pretty sure the concept was just invented for perpetuation of the species.” When he inclined his chin behind her, she turned around and waved apologetically at the couple with their two young kids behind her. “My bad.”
Turning back to face West—who appeared to be having convulsions behind his napkin—she shrugged. “I kept it mostly clean. Orgasm isn’t a dirty word. I wish I’d known it before I was in high school.”
“I think it’s more the environment. You’re in a family pizza joint.”
“Yeah, oops. I apologized. Those kids should be in bed anyway.” She stuffed her face with the rest of her slice so she didn’t say anything else dangerous while the family filed out of the booth and booked for the door.
Chased another one away. Four-pack this time.
That might be a personal best.
“Now that they’re gone,” West leaned forward, “I can assure you the female orgasm is not a myth. Just like I can’t come twice in one session doesn’t mean some people can.”
She blinked at him. “I don’t even believe in solos and you’re complaining you can’t go for multiples?”
“Just saying. Everyone is different.” He shifted in his seat, stretching out his long jean-clad legs to the side of the booth. He wore heavy motorcycle boots with lots of buckles and hardware, the heavy kind that clomped when he walked. “What makes sex amazing is finding that individual key to turn. Figuring out what certain combination of things makes your partner lose their mind.”
She chewed on a hunk of the crust—truly glorious—and considered what he’d said. She was pretty sure it was a hunk of baloney. “I think women are really good at faking. You men like to have your egos stroked. All I’m saying. And if you come back with ‘not all we like to have stroked’ you’re just proving my point. It’s an ego trip with most men. Not about pleasure.”
The piece of crust in her throat got stuck so she washed it down with the last of her soda. She was about to pop up to go grab another one when he reached across the table and covered her hand on the bottle
with his own.
More than a little dumbfounded, she watched him rise and lope to the cooler to grab her another soda. He snatched another for himself too and headed for the counter, appearing to engage in a brief, but spirited debate with the still-winking guy behind the counter.
Weird.
West came back and opened her soda for her before sliding it across the table. She nodded her thanks as he sat down again, and he let her take a couple of sips before he broke the silence.
“If you truly believe what you just said, I’m guessing you’ve known some real douches. I’m sorry for that. Any guy who is thinking about his ego and not his partner’s enjoyment is a real asshole.” He pushed aside his plate to get right in her space. Wide-eyed, she held her ground, though it would have been so easy to slam her back against the seat.
He was overwhelming in all the best ways.
“And along those same lines, I can promise you not every guy is like that. Some of us take our time, and we—”
“Don’t stop until you get it right?”
“What?”
Briefly, she debated sawing off her own tongue with her plastic spork. Too messy, probably. “Never mind. Song lyric. Failed attempt at humor. Please carry on.” She took a breath. “Were you about to dirty talk me?”
“I think any guy who tried to use dirty talk on you would probably end up in therapy.”
She laughed, grabbing her soda to wet her dry throat before she choked. “It all sounds so fake.”
He grabbed his pizza and dangled the piece above his mouth before he took a large bite. He followed it up with a couple more, then wiped his face with his napkin and went back to finish off the slice. As soon as he plowed through the first, he did the same to the second. He grabbed two more off the plate and she dug into hers, figuring at least they were well-matched appetite-wise if nothing else.
She was debating one more slice when he finally took a breather. “Dirty talk is like music. It’s not just a certain combination of lyrics and notes. It’s the mood, the feeling, the personalization. It’s about your man looking into your eyes as he peels off his clothes and touches you, as he tells you how he wants to make you feel.” His long fingers curled around the neck of his bottle and squeezed until the plastic buckled from the pressure. “How you’re making me feel.”
Her breath shortened in her chest as he turned back to the pizza, easy as could be. Did he know she was having trouble swallowing all of a sudden? Plus, this unexpected arrhythmia couldn’t be good. Yet he was just chowing down as if he hadn’t just torched her panties.
That hadn’t even been real dirty talk. Just the mere threat.
Sweet hell
“No smart comeback?”
