Damn, I feel like I’m looking at women through a different pair of binoculars. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the altered view. He shifted into stupid mode. “So the thought of having sex with me is that disgusting?”
She didn’t answer at first, instead surveying him like a structural engineer searching for the weak spots in a building. Yeah, that. He began squirming and tried not to show it.
“Not exactly disgusting.”
“So I’ve got that going for me. Gee, thanks.” He blew out a gust of air.
“What I mean is, and forgive me if I tromp on your fragile male ego, you’d probably be fun for a night, but not for long-term.”
This should have made him leap for joy. Hadn’t “short-term” been his goal all along? Instead, her statement nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. “Why not?” Damn, it bugged him to know she thought that.
She stretched her arms above her head like a graceful cat, and her T-shirt rode up, exposing a narrow band of smooth, peach-flesh skin. An urge to kiss it, lick it, danced through his mind, but her next words shut down the flashing fantasy.
“You strike me as a one-trick pony.”
Confusion must’ve shown all over his face because she gave him another eye-roll and an exasperated hmph. “You know, one and done. Same routine with every woman. And if you’re trading one puck bunny for another, you don’t really have to try, do you? No variety, no spice, like when you’re intimate with someone and you spend time exploring what really turns them on.”
Uncomfortably aware that he was growing more turned on, he gawked at her. No words came. No coherent ones anyway.
“Cat got your tongue there, Sparky?”
“Yeah, the cat does got my tongue.”
She laughed out loud. And who could blame her? He sounded like an asshat of epic proportion.
He gave his head a quick shake and blurted, “Have you ever dated a younger guy?”
She flicked up a forefinger. “Once. That cured me.”
“How much younger?”
“Two years.”
“What was wrong with him? Was he stupid?” Like me?
Her gaze swung to the ceiling, as though she were forming her thoughts, and returned to him. “Nothing was wrong with him, and no,” she chuckled, “he wasn’t stupid. In fact, he was scary brainy. He was just … young. Unsophisticated.”
“In bed too?” Why was he even going there?
“He was meh in bed, although he made up for it in enthusiasm. He really enjoyed sex.”
Quinn spluttered and laughed, relieving some of his pent-up tension like steam whistling out of a kettle. “And what’s wrong with that?”
Cocking her head, she gave him a little grin. “Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against sex. In fact, it’s one of my favorite things to do.”
With the image of her creamy skin still emblazoned in his brain, her words bolted straight to his dick. As things rearranged themselves in his pants to accommodate his rock-hard shaft, he shifted in his chair and plastered on an “I’m-fascinated-by-what-you-have-to-say” look. While he was fascinated by what Sarah had to say, the growing distraction in his crotch was making focusing difficult.
Fortunately, she started talking again, saving him from having to find his missing voice, which would have no doubt come out strained anyway.
“The thing is, you can’t screw all the time,” she said matter-of-factly, which did nothing to alleviate his aching problem. “You have to be able to carry on conversations if you’re going to spend time with someone. In fact, I think—for women at least—stimulating conversation is an aphrodisiac. A guy can be good-looking, have an Adonis body, and be able to swivel his hips like nobody’s business, but the real turn-on is here.” She tapped her finger against her temple. “You feel me?”
Nothing I’d rather do than feel you. His mind departed the cerebral world. He could have beat his chest and let out a carnal caveman yell in his current primal state. Instead, he cleared his throat, disguising a groan as he tried to get himself under control. “I think so.” Having a hard time processing here because all the blood in my body is in my swollen cock, where it’ll stay until I do something about it.
He needed another shower.
Quinn looked as though he was in pain.
“You okay over there, Sparky?”
“I’m good,” he croaked. Another throat clear, and he barked out, “Have you ever dated a hockey player?”
“Ha! No.” No need to even think about her answer before she spat it out there. She shook her head so violently she made herself dizzy. Or was it the beer? What time was it?
“Why not?” His still-strained voice held genuine curiosity.
“Because I’ve spent too much time around them, and I know what makes them tick. They’re only interested in three things.” She began counting on her fingers. “The game of hockey, their next meal, and their next lay. And most of them couldn’t care less who the layee—or is that layer?—is. Is he interested in anything beyond her looks, like what drives her? Her goals? Things she loves and hates? No. His primary concern is how he can get his dick inside her.”
His eyes popped wide, and he twisted in his seat.
Yeah, I’m describing you, Sparky.
“Toots, you’ve just described every male on the fucking planet.”
She shot to her feet and shook her empty bottle at him. “Another beer?”
“No. I’m switching to rum.”
“Ooh, then I will too!”
He grinned at her. “You like rum?”
“Well, I prefer bourbon. And Coke. Together.”
“Yeah, they’re usually together.” He shook
