But then he continues, “I’d eat your pussy until you begged me to stop. I’d teach you how to please a man. How to give a proper blow job.”
My heart comes crashing back down to Earth. Not that his suggestions aren't hot as hell, but they're still “just sex” as far as I'm concerned, and I'm getting tired of him dodging my question. I give him a contemptuous smile. “How thoughtful of you.” Taking a step closer, I look up into his dark eyes. “Why would you even want to do this? With a virgin, you’d have to go slow and do all the work. Besides, I’ll probably suck at it.”
He chuckles darkly. “You really have no fuckin’ idea, do you?”
“About what?” I blink up at him. I seriously have no clue. And I hate that.
“How good you’re going to feel around me, how your tight little body is going to clench around me, milk my cock...trust me, it’ll be fun for me. I can’t wait to see how many times I’m going to make you come.”
I draw a shuddering breath, feeling so shaky and overwhelmed that I want to collapse into him. Somehow my legs hold me upright. Thank you, God.
“Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. My place,” he whispers. With that, he turns and leaves.
I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do, but as I watch the powerful muscles in his shoulders flex as he walks away, I want nothing more than to rush out after him, hear more of those dirty endearments on his lips, and feel his mouth on mine. I can’t believe that kiss. It was passionate. Intense. Better than I could have imagined, better than my wildest teenage dreams—where Hudson always played the starring role. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or that kiss, or the fact that when faced with men who weren’t Hudson, I wanted nothing to do with them...but I think I may have my answer after all.
Shit. I don't know if tomorrow night will come too fast or too slow.
Chapter Six
Hudson
It's finally Sunday, and my first “date” with Gracie is in less than four hours. I feel like a nervous teenager again. Sweating in front of my prom date's front door, checking my breath for the hundredth time, barely daring to imagine where the evening might take us. It's a little ridiculous; I'm a grown-ass man with plenty of experience under my belt. I lost my virginity before I could even drive, and my bed has rarely been empty since. I shouldn't be sweating this at all.
But I've never had an evening with someone like Gracie—because there is no one like her. She's special to me, for so many reasons. I only distracted myself with all those other women in the first place because I couldn't have her. And she's handed me a huge gift; it's my responsibility to make sure her first time is as good as possible. There can be nothing commonplace about what we're doing tonight. In a way, I'm almost as new to this as she is.
At least Gracie's father won't answer the door with a service pistol tucked in his belt, unlike my actual senior prom date. Her big brother, on the other hand...
As best I can, I push away the thought of Hayden. But our friendship lingers in the back of my mind.
I quickly vacuum and dust my apartment, then head to the liquor store. I consider tequila for Sunrises, but I don't want either of us to get too drunk tonight, so I choose some wine from Sonoma Valley: White Zinfandel for her, Cabernet Sauvignon for me. I stick the white in the fridge, leave the red on the kitchen counter, and jump in the shower. I shave, brush my teeth, and pat on a little cologne. I decide on blue jeans and a short-sleeved polo, casual but not sloppy.
Finally there's nothing else to prepare. I even loaded up some chill-out music to play quietly in the background. So I settle onto the couch to kill time with a political thriller novel, the latest from my favorite author. I've been reading it every night before bed. Its plot is tense, its characters are intriguing, and I've got no hope in hell of concentrating on it right now. My eyes wander over the same page three times without absorbing a single word.
At the quick knock on my door, I gratefully drop the book on the coffee table and get up to answer.
Gracie is wearing a light blue sundress, its halter top cradling her breasts and her chestnut hair cascading in waves down her exposed back. Her apple-red toes peek out of flat beige sandals. She usually paints her nails some shade of pink or purple; maybe she wanted to look more grown-up for such a momentous occasion? If that was the case, mission fucking accomplished. She's always cute, but right now, she's beautiful. Breathtaking, if I'm being honest.
She offers me an adorable smile somewhere between excited and nervous. “Um...hey,” she says. “Am I late?”
I shake my head. “No, you're right on time.” I stand aside so she can step through and then lock the door. “You want something to drink? I've got a White Zin chilled and ready to go.”
She laughs a little as she toes off her sandals. “God, yes. You know me too well.”
And I'm about to get to know you even better. This is so damn awkward. Buying the booze was definitely a smart move. We'll both need some time to loosen up before we get down to business, or the mood will be all wrong.
I pour our wine and we sit on the couch, like we did at her place just two short nights ago. Gracie inclines her head towards the stereo system. “Is this song by Fistful Of Colors?”
“Yeah, actually. You have a good ear. I didn't know you were into electronic music.” For the most part, I'm not either. But the downtempo stuff makes great background noise when I'm working, reading...or entertaining women.