through Emma. What did she want him to do to her? Short answer: Everything.
She felt her throat go dry. She had a hard time concentrating when Mr. X leaned in so close to her. His strong chin, the unwavering golden-eyed gaze. The thick jet-black hair that she badly wanted to put her hands in. She glanced at the Ritz-Carlton key card on the bar. That was it. The key to a room upstairs where...where...she could indulge in...him. That squared-off, strong chin, the barely-there stubble, those full, sensual lips. All she could think about was how he’d taste if she kissed him, how those lips would feel on hers. The attraction felt palpable, as if it was a physical law of nature that couldn’t be denied, like gravity. Emma realized the absurdity of this situation: that just minutes ago she’d dismissed Happy Fun Time in an instant, but X was different. Calm, collected, confident. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this kind of pull, this kind of attraction. It had been instantaneous the minute he’d walked into the bar. She’d been aware of him every second, every little move he made.
And the more she learned about him, the more intrigued she became. He had loved deeply before. She saw it in the hurt on his face. He was a complicated man, and as much as she hated to admit it, she loved complicated.
He studied her, waiting for her answer, and she felt the weight of his golden gaze. For the first time since signing up for this ridiculous app, she almost felt tempted. What would it be like to follow this man up to a room and...?
“If we went upstairs right now...” He leaned closer, so their elbows were now touching on the bar. “What’s the first thing you’d want? This would be a night for you. So...?”
She stared at his full lips.
“A k-kiss?” she offered.
He let out a low chuckle, and she felt the reverberations in her toes. She loved how he laughed—almost like a sensual growl. “You’re still behaving like you can’t be one hundred percent honest with me. You can. You don’t have to tell me the answers you think I want to hear.” He studied her. “What did you want your last boyfriend to do...that he’d never do?”
Emma thought about her predictable, staid boyfriend, Devin. He’d never been interested in how she felt about sex. It was always quick, the same position, with him coming in about two minutes, just when she was starting to get warmed up. Emma blamed herself: she never complained about it, and they’d just got stuck in this terrible kind of rhythm. But she didn’t know how to talk about it without hurting his feelings, so she didn’t.
Now Mr. X was waiting for her answer. And why not be honest? After all, he was right: they probably would never meet again. Even if they didn’t have sex tonight, what did she have to lose?
“He never let me...come first.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt a little bit lighter. Admitting that—the first time she’d admitted it to anyone—felt like a burden had been lifted. Like she’d finally let go of a dirty secret.
Mr. X stared at her. “He always came first?” He looked shocked, even bewildered as his dark eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
She nodded and took another drink of her gin and tonic, the second cocktail heading to her head with rapid speed. She felt pleasantly light-headed, but didn’t know if that was the Hendrick’s or Mr. X’s eyes on her.
Her experience limited, Emma thought maybe that was how it went with most men: they’d do what they wanted first, and then if they had the energy left over, they’d handle the woman’s needs.
“That’s unacceptable.” The finality of his tone sent another little thrill through her. “I’d make sure you came at least three times.”
“Three times?” She nearly spit out her drink. “That’s a lot.”
“Not nearly enough.” He grinned, and his bright white smile in his tanned face seemed blinding. “But we’d have all night.”
“All night?” Devin subscribed to the one and done philosophy. She doubted sex had ever lasted for her longer than about twenty minutes, and that was a marathon.
“And, of course, all positions. We have to find the one that’s right for you.” A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his full mouth.
Emma felt the blush inch its way up her neck. She wasn’t even sure she knew all the positions. The thought was a bit naughty...and a bit thrilling. She was beginning to see the allure of anonymous sex. She wouldn’t have to worry about what she looked like from certain vantage points, a concern that nearly always plagued her, or whether or not she ought to suck in her stomach. X was a stranger, and would remain a stranger, so why worry about... any of the normal things she worried about?
She ran her finger around the lip of her glass. “I’m beginning to see why women would want to fall into bed with you right when they meet you.”
He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “Well, I can tell you this. If you do, you won’t be disappointed.” She felt the warmth of his breath on her ear and the delicious naughtiness of the whole situation delighted her. She liked flirting—scratch that—loved flirting with this man. She even found herself seriously considering his proposition.
“Somehow, I believe you.”
“You should.” His confident gaze never left her. He slowly reached out and took her hand. He held it palm up, running a strong finger down her life line. “I like to start slowly. Explore you. Like so.” His delicate, featherlike touch sent electric sparks darting upward. Goose bumps ran up her arm. “Every woman is different, and I’d spend a lot of time finding out how unique you are.”
“Just how many women have you...” She figured probably hundreds. With eyes like that and a body that seemed ready for an underwear ad. She thought he probably got laid anytime he wanted it. Women lining up on Nost to have a drink date.
He cocked his head to one side, looking coy. “I’ve had my share.”
Now he was so close to her that when she looked up, she almost felt like she could fall into his gaze, a pool of hazel with flecks of gold. So close to him, she inhaled his spicy sweet scent, like cinnamon with a hint of some woodsy aftershave. He looked good. Smelled good. I wonder if he tastes good, too.
The thought jolted her.
“I’m not usually so impulsive.”
“Why not?” He wasn’t being flippant, she could tell. He really wanted to know.
“I don’t know. I guess I worry about what people will think.” There, she’d said it. It was her dirty little secret: she cared about other people’s opinions. She spent a great deal of time writing in her articles about how women need to believe in themselves and be independent, and yet, she feared the weight of judgment herself.
And was she falling into the trap of believing that women who sleep around, who have casual sex, were somehow less than the ones who were more particular? That little feminist thread would have her head spinning for days.
“No one has to know,” Mr. X said simply, as if this answered everything.
“But what if I want to write about it?” she asked. And part of her did. This little drink date was bringing up all kinds of feelings in her: Was she wrong to assume casual sex just benefited men? Should she try to find out? Why did her gut tell her to lean forward right now and kiss this man she’d just met?
“Then, do. I promise to give you something worth writing about.” He was so confident, so sure. And part of her knew he was telling the truth. She couldn’t imagine sex with this man being anything other than amazing. She could almost feel the electricity zapping between them. He was so close now that if she leaned forward, even slightly, their lips would touch. She held eye contact, unable to break it, caught in a kind of trance. He inched forward and she felt in that instant, he was going to kiss her. Suddenly, she got cold feet. Was he going to kiss her right here at the bar? Was she ready for where that kiss might lead?
She pulled