Megan Hart: An Erotic Collection Volume 2

He’d make love like that, too.

Katie wondered if she’d ever find out. She’d met Jimmy weeks ago. He’d flirted with her right away. Asked for her number. He’d actually called, too, something that had surprised her since guys like Jimmy always said they’d call but never did.

Katie wasn’t sure just how they’d fallen into late-night discussions about old movies, art, books, music. About their favorite colors and foods. All she knew was that she told Jimmy things she hadn’t told any guy in a long time, and nothing she said ever seemed to put him off or be too much. Katie had spilled her guts about a lot of things from her most embarrassing moment to her secret fetish for knitted slippers.

They had become friends, and that was great, but Katie was beginning to wonder if that’s all it would ever be.

“You stand in front of three doors,” Jimmy said. “What color are they, what is behind each, and which do you pick?”

Katie laughed. “Where do you come up with these?”

“I have a book. Two hundred and seven of the most obscure questions to ask a beautiful woman.”

At least he’d said she was beautiful. Katie cleared her throat. “Let me think about it. You go first.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve had time to think about it longer than you have.”

“Tell me anyway,” Katie told him and settled deeper into the blankets.

“The doors are red, blue and purple. I pick the blue one.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Jimmy said, “blue’s your favorite color and I bet you’re behind it.”

Heat twisted through her. “And what about the other doors?”

“I don’t open them,” Jimmy told her, “so I have no idea what’s behind them.”

“Good answer.”

“Your turn.”

Katie couldn’t begin to think about doors and colors and what was behind them. Or rather, she could think, but every door she imagined was glass, each had Jimmy behind it, and no matter how hard she tried, she could open none of them. She sighed.

“Tell me something else, Jimmy.”

“Like what?”

“What’s your favorite poem? Do you have one?”

Jimmy laughed softly, and Katie imagined the brush of his breath against her neck. “Unless you count Jim Morrison lyrics as a poem, no, I guess I don’t. What’s yours?”

“I like e.e. cummings. My favorite starts off ‘the boys I mean are not refined.’” Katie thought of the girls who bucked and bite, the boys who shake the mountains when they dance. She recited it to him from memory, and Jimmy was quiet for a moment after that.

“I never liked poetry,” he said. “I had a…teacher…in school who made me recite lots of poetry. It was a way to…well, it doesn’t matter why. I hated poetry because of that teacher. I never thought I could actually like a poem. But I like that one.”

She heard him yawn and frowned, safe in knowing he couldn’t see her. She was already making a face in anticipation of him ending the conversation, but her voice was neutral in reply when he told her he had to hang up.

“Yeah,” Katie said. “It’s late.”

The invitation was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. She didn’t want to invite him out, not even to the coffee shop where they’d first met. He might say no. Worse, he might stop calling her.

“Night, Katie. Sleep tight.”

“You too,” Katie said and clutched the phone tight in her fingers after he’d disconnected before she did, too.

She was still thinking of that conversation when she got home with Dean in tow.

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Dean said as he flipped through a magazine she’d left on her coffee table. He tossed it down and looked at her. “What? Maybe he knows too much about you already. Destroyed the mystery.”

“So then why does he keep calling me?” Katie nudged off one shoe with a sigh and then the other before flopping onto her couch. “Do men often call women late at night just to chat because they long to hear the sound of another voice? I think not.”

“You’re asking the wrong guy about that.”

“Do you ever call someone late at night just to hear them talk?”

“Only if I’m jerking off at the same time,” Dean said.

Katie made a face and wriggled her toes, free of the high-heeled pumps. “Maybe he’s jerking off.”

Dean shot her a grin. “Do you?”

“That,” Katie said, “is none of your business.”

Dean slid onto the couch beside her. “You do.”

“Maybe. Once or twice.” Katie curled her feet underneath her, looking at him. “He has a very sexy voice.”

“So why not invite him over? Put on some soft music, make him dinner. Guys love that sort of shit.” Dean tweaked her knee through her soft skirt. “Make the first move.”

Katie shrugged. “I don’t know. I like him. Maybe too much. I don’t want to fuck it up, Dean. If he was into me like that, don’t you think he’d have asked me on a real date or something instead of just calling me and talking for hours?”

“Maybe he’s afraid, too. Guys can be afraid,” Dean said.

“Are you?” She tilted her head to study him.

“I’m not afraid of anything.” Dean frowned.

She let it go. She knew him better than that. After Ethan left, Dean hadn’t said his name again. He’d erased Ethan from his life as thoroughly as though his lover had never existed as part of it. In some ways Katie admired that about Dean, his commitment to forgetting the past. On the other hand, she knew there had to be fond memories among the bad ones. She never regretted remembering relationships, even ones that ended.

So why was she so afraid to take a chance on one with Jimmy? Even if it didn’t work out, she wouldn’t have lost anything and might be missing something great. Katie sighed.

“Hey.” Dean squeezed her again. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“Huh? About Jimmy?”

“Focus,” Dean said. He pulled out a strip of condoms from his back pocket and unfurled them, dangling, before tossing them onto the coffee table. “About us. This.”

“Oh, the challenge.” Katie drew out the word, then smiled. “No. I’m up for it.”

Dean smiled too. “Good.”

Katie was used to Dean encroaching on her personal space. He was a hugger, a toucher, a stroker. Working together on projects, bent over a computer screen, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stand behind her with his chin on her shoulder to see what she was doing, or to put an arm over her shoulders while they walked someplace. Dean’s physical affection was constant and casual.

This was going to be something totally different.

She wasn’t sure what to expect when Dean kissed her. It was nothing like the New Year’s Eve smooch. That had been rough and teasing, both of them a little drunk and laughing. Not serious.

She should’ve known better than to think her experience with that kiss could’ve prepared her for the sensation of Dean’s mouth for real. He slanted his lips over hers as his hand came up to cup the back of her neck. The couch gave as he moved, dipping under his weight as he braced his hand on the back of it. His knee moved between hers. His mouth opened. He tasted of mint.

She’d closed her eyes automatically when he kissed her and opened them when he pulled back. Dean blinked, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth wet. He slid his tongue over his lips.

“That’s a start,” Katie said.

Dean laughed, low. “You’re not going to give me one fucking inch, are you?”

“No. You’re going to have to work for this, Dean.” She moved closer and brushed his lips with hers back and forth before pausing a breath away. “I told you it wasn’t going to be easy.”

His fingers tightened at the base of her skull. When he licked his mouth again, his tongue teased her lips. They kissed again, deeper this time. Longer. When they pulled apart this time, Katie’s heart had started up a determined thunder-thump she felt in all her pulse-points.