Dirty Talk - Julie Kriss Page 0,5

in the world—I’m six-three, but Dane Scotland is taller than me, plus he works out like an obsessed motherfucker—but next to her I was huge. She had a dancer’s body, all lithe and naturally graceful. Lightly rounded hips, a flat stomach, small tits, elegant bare arms in her sleeveless dress. Her pale skin was flawless, contrasting with the tied-back dark red of her hair.

I really, really wanted to see that hair down. Wrapped around my hands. I wanted to see a lot of things.

I hadn’t wanted to see those things in a long time.

The moment drew out, our stares intense. Emma looked away uneasily, then back at me again. Checking me out, but not wanting to. I let her do it. I watched the thoughts cross her mind, then settle in, watched her realize that we were somehow turning each other on just by standing here.

“Well?” I said to her. “Are you ready?”

She bit her lip briefly in a way that was completely unself-conscious. She cleared her throat. She had a nice voice, sexy with the faintest raw edge to it, like a nightclub singer’s. “So we eat dinner, and then what?” she said.

It was a loaded question. We both knew it. But if she wanted an honest answer, I’d give her one.

“First,” I said, “we have a good dinner and a few drinks. We talk. When we’re done, we go back to my place, which isn’t far from here. And when we get to my place, I fuck you for—” I ran my gaze up and down her again, assessing— “I’d say two hours at least, maybe three. Whatever it takes until we’re both satisfied.”

Three

Emma

* * *

My mouth dropped open. I felt it, felt the air in my mouth as I stared at him. I’d never considered myself a person who was easy to shock. No, it was usually me doing the shocking. But I was shocked now.

Shocked, and turned on.

I was a grown woman, with a grown woman’s needs and no time for a relationship—Tinder was my best friend. A Tinder date was usually a pretty straightforward negotiation, with one or both parties looking for sex and not much pretense otherwise. So in a way, I was used to this kind of bluntness about what a man wanted.

But this wasn’t some random guy off the internet with an ex-wife, a gym membership, and a backwards baseball cap. This was one of the Tower VC partners, the lifelong friend of my sister’s husband. He was Noah Pearson, he didn’t even want to be here, and we were supposed to just be having dinner.

I recovered myself before I could swallow too many bugs. “I never agreed to have sex with you.”

Noah shrugged. “True, because I never asked. But it’s going to happen anyway.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

“I just read the room, Emma. This—” he motioned to the air between us— “is a thing. It’s easy enough to figure out. Why waste time denying it?”

I pushed my sunglasses up into my hair. “You know we’re a thing five minutes after meeting me?”

“Are you saying it isn’t true?”

Damn it. I was trying to force myself to stop staring at him, but I couldn’t quite do it.

He was good-looking—of course he was. Gorgeous, even. And sexy, any woman would be able to see that. What had caught me off-guard was that my breath was short and I could feel my pulse in my neck. Just by looking at him, I could suddenly feel how my dress fit against my skin, could feel the warm breeze on the damp back of my neck.

He had nice hands—wide and strong, the knuckles prominent, the fingers deft and masculine. Why the hell was I looking at his hands? Why was I looking at the shape of his mouth against his trim, dark blond beard? Why was I looking at his short, dark blond hair and wondering what it felt like? Why did I have a shaky feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought of having dinner with him?

That shaky feeling? I’d never had it. Not when I was a teenager, not when I was a horny single girl in my early twenties. Not for any Tinder date. And Noah had picked up on it, damn him.

But I’d only just met the man. And he was a man, just like any other. He needed to get over himself.

I shifted my weight onto one hip and crossed my arms. “Look,” I said. “If you want