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“Why are you mocking me?” I snap.
If I’d hoped to shame him, I’m going to be disappointed. He just grins. “Because it’s funny. I didn’t expect this. I thought you’d be confident and aggressive in the bedroom. I thought you’d have me tied to the bedpost in the first five minutes and be screwing my brains out.”
“Wow.”
“Are you into BDSM? I have visions of you in leather with a whip.”
“Oh my God.”
“I’m just saying, I’m not a natural sub. We might have a bit of an issue if you’re expecting me to do as I’m told.”
“Hux!”
“What?” He laughs again. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw you blush.” He tips his head to the side as he studies me. “It’s kinda sexy.”
“You’re not helping.”
“You’ve had at least three partners I know of, and I’d be shocked if it wasn’t more, because you’re so gorgeous. Why are you so hesitant?”
“Like I said, because it’s you. I don’t know how to act.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” I say resentfully. “I mean, should I call you Oliver when we’re… you know… at it?”
He gives me a baffled look. “Firstly, ‘at it’? And secondly, why?”
“Because it’s your name?”
“I don’t think you’ve ever called me Oliver other than when you’re annoyed with me. It would just be weird now.”
“I can’t sleep with you and call you by your surname.”
He laughs again. He’s thoroughly enjoying himself, the bastard.
“You don’t get it,” I say, a little irritable. “You’re you, and I’m just me. I feel as if I’ve arrived at the palace and met Prince Charming. I’m out of my depth, and you’re mocking me for it. I honestly don’t think I’m going to be able to relax. So here’s my idea. I think we should just get it over with.”
His smile fades. “Get it over with,” he repeats flatly.
“Yeah. I don’t need foreplay or anything. I have some lube in my purse. We don’t even have to kiss. When we get back, let’s just have at it and get it done.”
“Jesus.” Now it’s his turn to look exasperated. He glances around to make sure nobody’s listening, then leans on the table. “You might not need foreplay, but I do. I’m not a robot. In fact, I don’t just require it—I enjoy it. And I like kissing. I’ve been looking forward to this. Stop spoiling my fun.”
My lips curve up. “Don’t pout.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“A bit.”
“So you’re not serious?”
“Maybe twenty percent. Possibly thirty.”
“Do you really have lube in your purse?”
“Yeah. Just in case.”
“You won’t need it.” He smirks.
