I really want to ask when the last time was that she had sex. I want to punch that guy in the face.
“It was blah,” she says and laughs. “I’m too shy to ask for what I want.”
I chuckle. “Which is clearly something close to these books you read.”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know someday.”
The smile on my lips drops.
And who the fuck is she going to try this with?
“Your turn. Tell me about your sex life,” she says, cool as a fucking cucumber, and I love every moment of it.
“You really want to know?” I ask.
She bumps my shoulder with hers and then lays her head on it.
“I told you about mine.”
“Barely.”
“Big D, you could ask me anything right now and I’d tell you the honest truth.”
“Is that so?” I ask her, ignoring the Big D nickname.
“Yes.”
Can I kiss you?
Can I be the man you try this with?
But I don't ask either question. Instead, I go back to our previous topic.
“My sex life is nonexistent, too.”
“Really?” The surprise in her tone is loud. “But look at you.” She sits up and sets her wineglass on the floor behind her. “You have the lush hair a woman can run her fingers through,” she says and does just that as she moans. “And it’s so dang soft.”
Then her hand cups my jaw, jerking my face to look at her. “And your chiseled features are so—” She bites her lip on another groan.
She’s going to have to stop doing that.
Her hand drifts down to my neck and then my chest, while my heart begins to race at her touch. “And you’re ripped.”
Her hands smooth over my shoulders to my biceps.
“And these tattoos.”
Her gaze drifts to my arm.
God, she’s biting her lip again.
She’s trying to kill me.
“Annnnd,” she says as she drops her head back to the sofa and covers her eyes. “You’re sweet. Like super sweet. You’re a catch, Dutton.”
I open my mouth to tell her she’s wrong. That I’m only like this with her and it baffles me, too, but like before, she jumps up. This time, she stumbles a little with each step.
“I’m opening the last bottle.”
