I turn on the lamp and pull out my list. I look over number two, “Stop thinking about [him]” and put a checkmark by it.
I won’t be answering his phone calls anymore.
***
“Paris?” Blake’s voice is in my ear. “Is something wrong? Are you sick?”
I murmur and roll over to face him.
The second I open my eyes, I almost fall out of the bed.
He’s damn near naked.
He’s only wearing a towel around his waist, and small droplets of water are trickling down his tattooed chest. To make matters worse, the imprint of his dick—his HUGE dick, can clearly be seen through the towel.
Holy shit...
“Paris?” He places his hand on my forehead.
“Why the hell are you naked?” I’m sure my eyes are as wide as they can go.
“You were screaming.”
“I screamed for you to come in here and take your clothes off?”
“No.” He laughs. “I heard you while I was in the shower... Are you listening to me?”
I try to keep my eyes on his, but they keep wandering down to that towel—attempting to get a better look at exactly what’s behind it.
“Would you like for me to take the towel off?” he asks. “I’m starting to think that would really make you feel better.”
“It wouldn’t.” My heart flutters. “And I’m perfectly fine. I think I might have just been moaning about menstrual cramps.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Because they taught you how to predict menstrual cycles in law school?”
“No, but you took a birth control pill while we were on the plane—a first week Thursday one...You won’t get your period for another two weeks, so I highly doubt you’re having menstrual cramps—if you’re even cramping at all.”
My jaw drops and the fluttering in my stomach intensifies.
He smiles at me, damn well knowing that he won that last conversation. “Did you want to sleep the rest of the day away or do you want to join me for dinner?”
“Depends. Do you want to put some actual clothes on?”
“If you insist.” He helps me up and walks me into his dining room.
After he pulls a chair out for me, he disappears for a few minutes and returns in grey flannel pants. He places a plate of grilled chicken and rice in front of me and pours me a glass of red wine.
I avoid eye contact as I eat—trying not to murmur with each and every bite.
God, he’s an amazing cook...
“Paris?” He calls my name, but I don’t look at him.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something? It may be slightly invasive...”
“I don’t think you’re capable of being anything but invasive.”
“If the sex wasn’t as good as you wanted it to be with your boyfriend, why didn’t you ever tell him how you felt?”
I immediately look up. “Why would I do that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
I sigh and lean back in my chair, thinking.
The first time Adrian and I had sex, we were at a luxury hotel downtown and he’d paid for us to have the room all weekend.
He was the third guy I’d been with, and I was just grateful that he wasn’t being rough and rushing through it like my last “kind of” boyfriends had. He’d kissed me gently all over, whispered sexy things into my ear, and when he’d slid into me it felt nice.
Just nice.
The times after that—for the first two years that we were together anyway, the sex was good, but it gradually became all too similar. Slow. Gentle. Calculated.
No matter how frantic and heavy the foreplay was, the actual sex was never spur of the moment, never “right here, right now,” never interesting. In fact, I could practically predict how many times he would kiss me before and after, could practically predict all the words he would say: “You’re amazing, Paris...” “Is this good?” “Keep going, Paris...”
Still, it was never “bad sex,” just “nice sex.”
“We didn’t really talk about sex,” I say, avoiding Blake’s eyes. “We just did it. And honestly, it wasn’t terrible. It just wasn’t—”
“Hot and sweaty?”
“Passionate.” I roll my eyes. “After our third year together, we were both working so hard that sex kind of faded into the background. We were working like crazy, and staying on top of everything was way more important than a romp in the sheets...Besides, sex can always get better with someone you love. You don’t dump someone just because it’s not ‘out of this world.’ You just work on it together.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me with a blank expression.
“You’d dump your girlfriend if the sex wasn’t good?” I scoff.
“I’ve never had a girlfriend.”
WHAT?! “Who’s lying now?”
“It’s the truth. I’ve never had one.”
Unbelievable... “Next thing you’ll tell me is that you’re a virgin.”
He blinks and my eyes widen.
“Wait, wait, wait.” I shake my head. “Are you? Are you a virgin?”
“A what?”
“A virgin.” I stare at him in shock. “That would actually explain a lot...A whole lot.”
“Would it really?” He stands up and walks over to me, leaning against the edge of the table.