Lucy Monroe - Satisfaction Guaranteed

They were looking into each other’s eyes again and hers were glistening with need.

“You fantasize about me?”

“Yes.”

“A lot?”

She blushed. “Yes.”

“And the pink handcuffs.”

The blush spread down her throat to cover the tops of her breasts revealed by her neckline. “Yes.”

Hot damn. “I’m not looking for a long-term commitment right now.”

He just could not get the image of her and orange blossoms out of his head. Most women he dated didn’t need it spelled out for them, but she was special and he owed her honesty.

She didn’t look hurt…or bothered even. “I’d never want that with you.”

For some reason, despite his arousal and his brain telling him that was exactly the way he wanted it, her response made him mad. But he had enough intelligence not to tell her so. It was just his ego taking a hit and he wasn’t going to let that get in the way, not of an attraction this strong.

“Do you want me?” he asked.

“You can see the effect you have on me.”

“Wanting is more than a physical reaction, Sunshine. I need to know if your brain wants this too, because if it doesn’t, I need to tuck my hard-on back in my pants and get out of here. Fast.”

She was silent. A long time. Too long.

He might have pushed another woman, but probably not and definitely not her. He’d learned long ago that both the sex and the aftermath were better when a woman was absolutely sure of what she wanted. It was agony, but he started the painful process of tucking himself back into his slacks. His body protested, but his brain told him this was the right thing to do. He had few relationship rules, but this one was firm.

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t say no.”

He couldn’t quite manage a smile, not when his cock was so hard it felt like it was going to shatter. “You were taking too long to say yes. If it’s that hard to decide, you aren’t ready for what I want from you.”

She blinked in confusion. “Sex.”

“Mind-blowing sex.”

She stood up, her face flushed, her bottom lip caught in her teeth again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I thought I wanted it… I do want it, it’s just…”

“It’s okay, baby.”

“I teased you,” she said in an agonized voice.

“I liked it.”

“But I’m not ready to follow through,” she admitted. “I don’t know if I ever will be.”

He had more confidence, but he knew she’d have to deal with whatever was holding her back.

“It’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yes.” She looked unhappy with his agreement, like it bothered her.

She should be grateful. A lot of men wouldn’t have been as understanding, but he wasn’t a kid. And he liked her. He wasn’t pushing her into a sexual relationship she wasn’t ready for. The things he wanted to do with and to her required a lack of inhibition that wasn’t going to come if she was doubting the rightness of letting him touch her.

He crossed the room and brushed his thumb over her lip, disengaging it from her teeth. “If you don’t stop doing that, you’re going to end up bruised…or bleeding.”

She looked up at him, the sensual longing in her eyes so strong he had to exert iron control to keep from stripping her naked and showing her how much she really did want him.

He kissed her, softly-almost chastely-on her lips, but his tongue took an irresistible swipe of her taste before he pulled away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded, following him silently to the door.

He stopped there. “Remember, dinner at my place. Right after work.”

“I’ll have to come home and feed the kittens first.”

She was sugar sweet and that was another thing that was different from the women he usually dated. He liked it. “Okay, make it six-thirty.”

“I’ll be there.” She didn’t sound sure, but on this…he didn’t have the luxury of waiting or being understanding.

She needed to come to his home and get an idea of who he was outside the office. “Take a taxi. I’ll drive you home.”

“Okay.”

He almost told her to bring the pink handcuffs, but he wasn’t into self-torture.

Idiot. Imbecile. Ninny. Blockhead. Dimwit. Dope. Dumbbell. Dummy. Nitwit. Numskull. Pinhead. Birdbrain. How many words for stupid were there? Not enough.

Beth rolled in her bed, the silk sheets mocking her with their sensual feel, her body tense with unspent passion. She’d had the man who embodied her most intense fantasies in her bedroom…his hard penis jutting from his body in desire for her, and she’d sent him away. Okay, so she didn’t want to get involved with him, not long term…but was she nuts?

He’d accused her at dinner of being afraid to live. He said she was a dreamer, not a doer. Or something close enough to it. Was he right? She thought maybe he was. What other explanation did she have for not jumping at the chance to make wild passionate love with him?

Well maybe it would be sex and not love, but wasn’t that better than always dreaming and never doing? He’d asked why she’d never left D.C. since she felt like she didn’t fit in here. The true answer was that she was afraid to try to make a life for herself somewhere else. But why? What could be worse than knowing her own parents thought she was an alien? Or as good as.

She could get a job somewhere else…live somewhere else. But she was afraid. Afraid to live in any real sense.

Why?

She couldn’t think straight enough to answer her own inner demand. Her body was screaming with sexual hunger left unsatisfied. It was not a good feeling.

She looked at the clock and blinked, but the numbers stayed the same. It was nearly two A.M. and she was too excited to sleep. She could touch herself-would probably end up doing so-but right now she was so mad at herself for being such a wuss, she wouldn’t give herself the relief.

Her eyes filmed with tears. It hurt to disappoint yourself.

The phone rang and she lurched up in bed to check the caller ID. Middle of the night calls usually meant trouble. Had something happened with her mom or dad? The digital readout on the back of the phone read Crane, E. It was Ethan!

She snatched it up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“You awake?” he asked in that low rumble she found so sexy.

“If I wasn’t, I am now.”

“Were you?” he pressed, giving her no out with flippancy.

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Me, too.”

“Why?”

“I got hot and bothered over a very sexy woman with surprisingly kinky tendencies and I can’t get the image of her pretty little panties out of my brain.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh…I’m not wearing any panties now.” Somehow, she didn’t think that would help the situation, but the words had just slipped out.

He groaned and she smiled, in spite of herself.

“I’m not wearing anything,” he said in a dark voice that made her shiver.

“Um…” She swallowed. “Me either. Well, except a gold silk sheet.” She hated any kind of restriction when she slept.

“You’re killing me here, baby.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“I know…you’re just having a hard time deciding what you want.”

“I know what I want.”

“You didn’t when I left your apartment.”

“I wanted you then, but I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Living.” She sighed. “I guess you were right. I am more of a dreamer than a doer.”

“What scares you so much about living?”

That was easy. “Getting hurt.”

“Pain reminds us that we are alive.”

“I suppose.”

“It’s also a good reminder not to take the times of pleasure for granted.”