“Yes. I would. For however long this goes.” JC tapped his palm on the table. “And correction, I’d be having sex only one day a week. I guarantee you it will be more than one time.”
The ball of want in my belly doubled inside. It didn’t matter if my head was convinced anymore—my heart believed him enough to win the ruling. Even if I didn’t say it now, I knew the next time he was inside me he would again be bare. By my choice. Not only because it was the laid-back way to be, but because I wanted him like that. I wanted him that close.
The realization shook me. Scared me. Thrilled me. “You get to me when you say things like that. You know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t know it.” He lowered his voice. “Now tell me how.”
“How I get to you.” His words were heavy and molten.
I was paralyzed with heat, captured in his piercing stare. “It…it turns me on.”
“How exactly?” When I didn’t respond he wrapped his foot around my chair and pulled me closer to the table. Then he leaned in, as if to tell me a secret. “Does it make your heart race? Does your breath feel heavy? Do I make you wet?”
His breath edged across my ear, but it was his words as much as anything that sent a buzz straight to my core. I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell him, yes, all those things. But my voice was stuck in my throat.
He turned his head and nuzzled the upper edge of my lobe with his nose. “See, that’s a problem, Gwen. How can I give you what you want if you aren’t able to tell me what that is?” His mouth brushed my skin, and I gasped, waiting for him to lick me, to suck me, to bite me.
But he didn’t do anything to me. Instead, he sat back, leaving me yearning and keyed up. “We’ll work on that,” he said.
“This time you can’t convince me that you don’t know exactly what you do to me.”
“No, this time I can’t.” His smile was slight, like he was appraising his meal. “But I mean it—what you want, you need to ask for. If you asked, I’d get you off right here at this table.”
“Well, that is not on my list of wants.” Though, now that he’d mentioned it…would I ever be able to do something like that? Let a man touch me, stroke me to orgasm in a public setting? The idea was terrifying.
And really, really hot.
Who the hell was this guy? And how the hell had he ended up in my life? “Seriously, JC. Why would you cease your fuck anyone, anytime lifestyle to shag one girl?”
“There you are assuming again about my lifestyle.”
“Am I wrong?” The look he gave me said that I wasn’t. It also said that he was serious about changing that. For me.
I had to know. “Why me?”
“Maybe you have a magic pussy.”
“Come on. Unoriginal.” I wasn’t letting him skirt around this one.
He shrugged. “Sleeping around gets boring. It’s work. I’m tired.”
“I don’t believe a word of that.”
“Too bad.” He stood and pulled his coat off the back of his chair.
Panic surged through me. Was this pushing him too far? Was this the end of the deal or was he signaling it was time to go together? And even if it was the latter, could I give in without finding out this answer?
No, I couldn’t. I could live without knowing anything else about him but not this. I had to understand this one thing.
He put his coat on and looked down at me still sitting. With a sigh, he sat back down. He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why, Gwen. But I want to do this with you. Maybe because I like a challenge. Maybe because I can’t stand seeing someone who’s as potentially brilliant as you shine so dully.”
Maybe I didn’t want his answer after all. “You really need to work on the compliments.”
He caught my eyes. “Maybe because I know that you don’t put out easily, and I like the way it feels to be the guy who gets you.”
I melted. I was an ice queen, and with just one line, I felt a layer of cold dripping away. And for a second, I found myself imagining what it would be like to actually get attached to someone like “Just JC.” I imagined that I might be a person who could do just that.
Then I stopped with that line of thinking. Because if I could get attached, I didn’t want this. And I wanted this. I wanted him to get me. I just had to be clear exactly what was allowed. “Gets me in bed, you mean.”
“Yes. In bed.” He grinned. “And on counters. And all around town, if I have anything to do with it.” He waited for me to smile before going on. “You’re fun, Gwen. And you don’t know it. I’m looking forward to being the person who shows you that. Also, magic pussy.”
I laughed now. The real joke was that he already was the only guy to get me. No one else had ever broken through so many layers of my armor to make me smile so easily, to laugh so quickly.
And whatever if it scared me. It didn’t mean anything other than that sex with JC was going to be fun. Fun was what I needed.
So when he asked, “Speaking of magic pussy, do you want to get out of here?” my answer took no thought at all. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
This time, as we left the café, JC took my hand in his. I was giddier about the gesture than I wanted to be, which I hated. I also hated that we both were wearing gloves. I wanted skin on skin.
We didn’t have to walk far before we caught a cab. JC gave instructions to the driver to take us to the Four Seasons Hotel. Then he chatted for a few minutes about the traffic and the Mets. After a few minutes, he sat back and removed the glove from my right hand and the glove from his left hand and entwined his fingers through mine.
The ride was about half an hour—not long considering it was rush hour now. Neither of us talked. We’d said all we needed to at breakfast. With words, anyway. Now we spoke through the juncture of our hands, his thumb caressing across my skin, our fingers squeezing where they were laced. It was active fondling, the pressure increasing and decreasing as our hands clenched and unclenched. With his touch, he told me what was in store for the rest of my body. I could tell exactly how he’d grope me, how he’d massage me, how he’d pump me.
It was the most erotic foreplay I’d ever experienced. By the time we arrived at our destination, I was aroused and primed for what would happen next.
I slid out of the cab first while JC paid. He’d paid for breakfast as well. When he joined me on the sidewalk, I said, “I know you have money.” We were at the Four Seasons, after all. “But I can pay for things too.” I didn’t want to offend him—if he was the type of guy who expected to be responsible for the bill then there was no arguing it. I’d met those guys.