Charmed by the Billionaire (Blue Collar Billionaires #2) - Lemmon, Jessica Page 0,60

with familiarity.”

“And so when it starts to become intimate, you leave?”

My head jerks back, but her shocking comment hits lower than that. Somewhere in the vicinity of my gut, like I was sucker-punched in the diaphragm and I’m struggling to catch my breath.

I’ve never thought about it in such precise terms before. It’s not a pretty picture, is it? Do I bail out of relationships when they become intimate? Do I make my escape before we get to the good stuff?

I’m nowhere near ready to admit that, even in question form. Instead I go with, “I’ve always seen sex for what it is. A physical release between two people. It’s up there with the basic needs in life. Shelter, food, water, sex.”

“Sex is needed to populate the planet. If you’re not populating the planet, why do you need it?” she challenges.

I lean in and murmur, “Why did you need it?”

She blushes. “To be honest, I didn’t know I did. You make a compelling point. I’m not sure if I can live without it now.”

I’m halfway to punching the sky in triumph. What stops me is the realization that the intimacy she spoke of, the intimacy I may or may not be trying to avoid, is filling every corner of this room.

I’ve never had a conversation like this. With anyone. Long relationship or short, the topic of intimacy never came up. I’m not sure if that speaks to the shallow relationships I’ve had, the women I’ve been with, or my own warped ideas about how relationships work. I’m torn between being relieved and pissed off. Nobody bothered to do a deep dive on Benjamin Owen before tonight. What gives?

I roll to my back and study the ceiling. I’m not sure how much of what I’m thinking I should reveal, if any of it. Since she keeps revealing things without my permission, I guess it doesn’t matter at this point. Cris is a safe space. She is my life coach. She’s my assistant at work. She’s my best friend. Just because I’ve never shared the ins and outs of my relationships with her doesn’t mean I can’t.

So why didn’t we talk about them? Why didn’t she ask me about Trish when clearly, she must have wondered? Why was she so careful to stay out of the way? I could blame professionalism, but her work attire of tattered jeans and Chuck Taylors are proof professionalism isn’t top of mind for her. Still studying the ceiling, I ask, “Why the sudden interest in my relationships?”

When no answer comes, I roll to my side and prop my head on my hand again.

Her mouth frowns as she shrugs. “I was curious.”

Curious because we slept together? Curious because I took her virginity? These are the kinds of questions I don’t typically have to contend with since the women I sleep with are experienced. Cris is the very definition of inexperienced.

“There’s no reason for you to be twitchy,” she states, confirming she can read my mind. If I was twitchy before her observation, now I’m twitchier. “Normally we talk about whatever interests us.”

“Yeah, normally we do. You’ve never asked about Trish or why we broke up before.”

“You never offered to tell me,” she snaps. “I may have phoned in a few reservations for dinners, but you kept me in the dark about the women you were dating.”

I open my mouth to tell her she’s wrong, but she’s not wrong. That’s the thing about Cris. She’s always fucking right.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start an argument.” She tears the sheet off my body and hers and climbs on top of me. I’m covered in petite blonde, her feisty smile and perceptive gray eyes going a long way to helping me forget this conversation.

Her breasts are between us, the perfect handfuls. I focus on them rather than the jittery feeling that I’m overlooking something really obvious. So. Breasts. I love the way they taste on my tongue, and she loves the way I love the way they taste. On that, we agree. Wholeheartedly. We should focus on what we agree on tonight.

“Let’s not spend the rest of tonight arguing,” she says, again echoing my thoughts. “I’m sure you can think of a dozen things we can do instead.”

“Honey, I’m game for whatever you want to do.” As much as it pains me to say it, there is a “but” coming. “But this is your first time or technically, your third time tonight. I don’t want you to be sore