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He draws another circle around me. “Keep talking.”
“We’re talking?”
He presses his lips to my neck. “Why are you shy about your connections?”
“I’m not. The meeting was bullshit. A photo op so some tech guy could tell the world he supported women. He didn’t do anything to help us. He didn’t even rent the ballroom for the rest of the afternoon.”
“He didn’t respect you?”
“No more talking.”
“Keep talking.” He toys with me again.
My body hums with desire. I don’t want to talk, but I don’t want him to stop, either. As long as he doesn’t stop, I can talk about anything. But what the hell are we talking about anyway?
Some meeting.
The fake women’s summit. “Yes, he didn’t respect me.” I let my forehead fall onto his chest. “He didn’t respect any of us. I see it all the time. These men who think it’s cute two women in their twenties made a company. As if we’re their daughters or granddaughters, and we’re asking them to buy supplies for our lemonade stand.”
“Bastards.”
“Bastards who rule the world,” I say.
“Older men?”
“Younger ones, too. They’re a little less obvious about talking down to us, but they still put us in a category. Women inventors. Women’s projects. Women’s problems. As if dating is something only women do. As if men don’t need clothes or clean houses or childcare.”
“You hate them?”
“Sometimes.” I find enough sense to blink my eyes open. Look up at him.
His eyes are filled with desire, too.
And he’s way too sexy like this, all power and control and need and dark eyes and dark hair and nimble, artist’s fingers.
“You’re sexy when you’re angry,” he purrs.
“You’re a freak.” And that is one of the hottest things anyone has ever said to me. He leans down and presses his lips to mine. A hard, fast kiss. Then another, just as hard, but slower.
His hands go to my hips, and he pulls my pelvis against his. I feel his hardness against me, and it feels so good.
Why does that feel so fucking good?
“Keep talking.” He places a kiss on my neck.
“Do I need to hit a certain word count?”
He presses his lips to my neck a little slower, a little softer.
My body hums.
Another kiss. “You could admit it.”
“Admit what?” Seriously, why are we talking?
He holds steady, speaks with confidence and clarity. “You downplay your accomplishments.”
“Having a vagina isn’t an accomplishment.”
