The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,53

I might as well commit the crime.” He stands, shoving a ball of nude lace in his pocket. “Now hurry up, or we’ll be late.”

I gape at him. “You’re going to make me sit in a room full of my colleagues—naked?”

He pulls off the condom and heads for the bathroom. “They won’t mind.”

Shaking my head, I grab my purse and follow him to quickly fix my makeup. I thumb away eyeliner smears, but my lipstick needs to be reapplied, and I haven’t got time. I grab a hand towel and wipe it off completely, staining the terrycloth red.

Andrew looks from it to me as he washes his hands. “Housekeeping’ll think I hurt you.” He pauses. “Did I?”

“No. It was a shock, and it felt weird, but it didn’t hurt.”

“Didn’t Reggie ever get the ass?” He quirks the corner of his mouth to reveal a dimple. I get the feeling that quirk and dimple frequently get him out of trouble.

“He tried,” I say. “Very hard. But he only got as far as you did before I got squeamish. It’s . . . unsanitary.”

“Mmm.” Andrew dries his hands, coming closer to me. He runs his hand over the curve of my ass. “It is unsanitary, isn’t it? Downright dirty.”

Maybe it’s because it’s Andrew. Maybe it’s that I’m not in my twenties anymore, and sexually speaking, I’m less uptight. This time, that small invasion turned me on more than it made me want to stop altogether. “I guess I didn’t mind it,” I say.

He squeezes one cheek. “I can get a lot dirtier.”

My throat dries. We exchange a glance in the reflection, and any teasing in his expression falls away. The heat in his eyes mirrors the warmth creeping up my chest. “How?”

“However you want. Not much bothers me. You’re on your period? Great. Let’s fuck in the shower. You want me to dress up as a sailor? Ahoy. Let’s fuck on a waterbed.”

I bite my bottom lip. “A sailor, hmm? That’s not very dirty.”

“A garbage man then.”

I laugh. My phone vibrates in my purse. Reluctantly, I get it out and read the text message from Sadie.

Reading nominations NOW.

I sigh and run my tongue over my front teeth, a habit from wearing lipstick so much. “We should go.”

Andrew looks into my open purse and picks out my business card. He flips it over, checks my information, and puts it in his pocket—with my underwear.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Me, asking for your phone number.”

I don’t know where to start with that. He didn’t ask, and if he had, I would’ve said no. “Don’t use it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He fixes a strand of my hair, smoothing it into place. “Come on.”

As we exit into the hall, he says, “We barely made it past the doorway.”

I shake my head. “Waste of money.”

“I have to vehemently disagree. Besides, we’re not nearly done with the room. We’ll come back later.”

My stomach tightens. I don’t fight the fact that I want to. I’ve already had a bite of cake—I might as well have a whole slice.

“I noticed you didn’t finish your dinner,” he says.

“Oh, God,” I moan, my euphoria dispelling. “Don’t start with this again.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying, maybe you should. You’ll need the energy tonight.”

I arch one eyebrow, reading him perfectly. If there’s any reason to eat carbs, that might be the best one. “You make a convincing argument.”

Inside the elevator, he corners me like he did the first night we were together, but this time, it doesn’t feel predatory. He lifts my face by my chin and pecks me as if it’s the most natural thing. “I’m looking forward to later.”

“Me too,” I say, glancing at the digital numbers over his head. Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen . . . “But I haven’t changed my mind about—”

“Spending the night,” he finishes.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have gotten the room.”

“It’s okay. We’ll make the most of it.” He brushes his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “Congratulations on tonight.”

I tilt my head, surprised by the change in topic. “It’s not a big deal,” I say.

“Why not?” he asks earnestly.

Why not? It just isn’t, I want to say. It’s not, because I’ve been telling myself it isn’t since I received the nomination. “The women I’m up against are older, more connected, and have donated enough money to the benefitting charity to make a statement. I deserve to win, but I won’t, because it’s all politics. I couldn’t not show up, though. It would’ve been rude, and these things are