she’s asking me this. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s because she’s the type of woman who needs to be in a relationship. She was getting married after all.
“No,” I answer honestly.
“Have you ever had a relationship?”
“When I was in high school, for about a month.”
“I’m sorry.” She starts to blink rapidly. “You’re telling me you haven’t had a relationship since high school. Which doesn’t count as a relationship because it was a month long and you were in high school.”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“How old are you?”
A little thrown by the change of direction, I give a mock frown, slapping my hand to my chest. “Don’t you know that you should never ask a man his age?”
Her brow lifts. “Pretty sure it’s okay to ask when said man is asking to get inside my panties.”
“I don’t want inside your panties, sweetheart. I want them off. It’s my dick I want inside you.”
Her full lips part, creating a perfect O. A flush creeps across her chest, rising up to her neck. Her breathing has increased its tempo, her chest rising and falling.
I love how responsive she is to just my words. I can’t wait until I can get my hands and mouth on her.
“And to answer your question, I’m twenty-seven. How old are you?” I’m guessing, considering she was supposed to be getting married, she’s not eighteen or under. I like women, not jailbait.
“Twenty-three.”
Thank fuck.
If she’d said eighteen or under, I might have actually cried.
Not really. I’m not a crier. But I definitely would have been disappointed. Massively disappointed.
“Perfect. So, we’re both consenting adults. We’re both single. And we’re incredibly attracted to each other.”
“You are so confident.”
“Attractive, isn’t it?” I give her a smile that’s been getting me laid since the ninth grade.
Her teeth sink into her plump bottom lip. “Oddly, yes.”
I like that answer. I like it a hell of a lot.
Leaning forward, I lay my forearms on the table. “I get this is different for you. I’m a direct guy. I see something I want, and I go for it. And I really want you, hence this conversation. But I also understand this isn’t straightforward for you. You want me—I’m clear on that, and I’m not being arrogant,” I interject when I see her mouth open to speak. “I’m only stating what you’ve already told me. But I know you’re fresh out of a shitty situation with your mom and your ex. Obviously, you are in no way ready for a relationship. But you know that’s not what I’m offering. You just have to think over and decide whether you want to do something about this sexual chemistry between us.”
“So, if we were to have sex, how would it work?”
“If you don’t know that, then I’m not sure that I want to do it with you,” I joke.
She rolls her eyes, and I chuckle.
“What I meant is, how would this fling work?”
I like that she’s asking. It means she’s fairly close to saying yes.
“However we both want it to work.”
“So, say we had sex at your villa. I then what, leave and go back to my place?”
“If you wanted to. But I’m not opposed to sleepovers. Sometimes, I wake up thirsty in the night, and when that happens, I usually like to get my tongue wet. Repeatedly.”
She swallows. “What about during the day?”
“We can fuck in the daytime.”
“When we’re not fucking and it’s daytime and we’re both, say, I don’t know … on the beach at the same time?”
I shrug and lean back in my chair. “Then, whatever. We can hang out when we’re not actively fucking, if you want. I’m not opposed to that.”
She lets out a nervous-sounding laugh and looks away, over at the ocean view. “God, this is so …”
“What?”
Her eyes come back to mine. “Strange.”
“What would you have preferred? Me to come on to you while you’re vulnerable? We fuck because ignoring the chemistry between us is damn near impossible, and then afterward, you feel like shit because maybe you weren’t ready to fuck another guy? Or me laying it all out to you, giving you time to think it over and know for sure what you want either way?”
She picks at the label on the bottle. “When you put it that way … maybe it’s not so strange.”
“I like to call it smart.” I give her a little grin. “More guys should be like me. Then, less hearts would get broken and—”