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She smiles. “I can never be mad at you for long.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
She has a bite of a sandwich, and lifts a crumb from her lip with a finger. “But Hux, you have to realize that you can’t keep harassing me. I’ve given you my answer. And I haven’t changed my mind.”
“I am sorry. I just find it unbelievable that you’re saying no to some really, really good sex.”
She huffs. “I don’t know how you can be so sure of yourself. Where do you get all that confidence?”
“I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about us. Sex is just a series of physical instructions—put tab a) into slot b). Or c). Or possibly d) if you’re really lucky. And then move up and down a bit.”
She gives a short laugh.
“Well, it is,” I continue. “And orgasms are the same. You’ve seen that Friends episode where they talk about erogenous zones.”
“Seven, seven, seven!”
I grin. “Yeah. But Monica was right—it’s about pressing a woman’s buttons in the right order. It’s not complicated.”
“It is for a lot of guys, I’m telling you.”
“And for women. Apparently ten to fifteen percent of women have never had an orgasm.”
She blinks. “Jesus. Really?”
“Apparently.”
She looks puzzled. “I don’t get that. Don’t they… you know…”
“Self-administer?” I smile. “Not everyone’s as open about sex as you, Elizabeth. A lot of people are told it’s wrong to touch yourself. Dirty, somehow. And some people have issues with abuse or other psychological problems.”
“I guess. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“We’re digressing. My point is that sex is just a bodily function. It’s the person you have it with that makes it special. That makes it amazing.”
She looks up at me then. Her brown eyes are the color of polished mahogany, and they contain flecks of gold at the center. Her lips, free from lipstick or gloss, are pale pink and look incredibly soft.
“I want to kiss you,” I say. “So fucking badly.”
Her lips curve up, and she looks away.
“Tell me you don’t want to kiss me.”
“Hux…”
“Tell me.”
“That’s not the point.”
“So you do?”
Her gaze comes back to my mouth. “What woman wouldn’t?”
It’s a nice compliment, but it’s not what I asked. “Do you remember our kiss on Valentine’s Day?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember how you slid your hand into my hair? How you opened your mouth to me?”
