Muffin Top

“And oral?” she asked, shifting her position and causing her skirt to raise a few inches on her thighs. The space where her creamy flesh pressed together drew his gaze, hypnotizing him.

It took everything he had not to close his eyes and revel in the mental picture of diving between her legs. “No.”

She cocked her head to one side and considered him. He wasn’t going to like what was going to come out of her mouth next. Correction. He was going to like it. A lot. And he shouldn’t. Not at all.

“And sliding your cock up and down a wet slit,” she said as she leaned closer, the move brushing her bare shoulder against his fingertips and shooting a bolt of electricity straight to his balls. “Does that count as sex as long as there’s no penetration?”

Sweet fucking mercy.

He was going to die—right here, right now—with pre-come on the tip of his raging hard-on.

“No.” The word came out rough and desperate, sort of like how he felt at the moment.

Yep. He was going to die and then go straight to hell for uttering such idiotic lies. Some might say he was going to H. E. double hockey sticks because of the dirty thoughts he was having about what exactly he wanted to do to and with Lucy, but he had a feeling God would forgive him. Frankie was only human, after all, and she could tempt a saint, which he very definitely was not. He was just an asshole who decided to go on a sex break to prove something—he couldn’t remember at the moment what—to himself and get his big head straight.

“And what,” she asked, pausing long enough to tug her plump bottom lip between her teeth, “is it that the lesbians of the world are having without a man’s dick?”

Yep. He was going to hell for lying. “Oral.”

“Oh my God,” she said with an astonished laugh, pressing her hand against his chest and shoving. He, of course, didn’t go anywhere, and she didn’t drop her hand. “For a man who’s seen more vagina than some gynecologists, your ignorance is astounding.”

“Careful, you might dent my ego.” Not possible, since it was made out of titanium, but his zipper was definitely in trouble.

“Your definition of sex is asinine.”

“Why?” He agreed, but the way Lucy’s brain worked was a total turn-on, and he liked getting a peek at that almost as much as checking out her tits.

This was a new one for him. He didn’t usually spend this much time talking to the women he spent time with, and their discussions didn’t have a lot to do with their definition of sex so much as the demand for what to do sexually.

The thing was, he was having fun, even with the zipper biting into his hard dick.

Lucy dropped her hand from his chest to his thigh as they sat there facing each other on the love seat in her dad’s darkened living room while the movie played on, forgotten on the big-screen TV. Moving away from her was the last thing he wanted to do, but he shifted farther back anyway as the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable because she’d accidentally touched his junk.

Every nerve was attuned to Lucy as she seemed to think out her response. The way she fiddled with her hair with her free hand. The way she wet her bottom lip with her tongue. The way her breathing hitched and her pulse picked up at the base of her throat each time her gaze moved from his face to her hand on his thigh and back again.

“Because all of those things mean making yourself vulnerable to another human being, and that’s the importance of sex,” she said, her voice soft but confident. “The orgasms are great, but what makes sex amazing is the personal connection.”

It wasn’t that she lost him with that argument so much it seemed old-fashioned for her to say.

“Isn’t that a stereotype?” he asked. “The good old days called, and they want their catchphrase back. You know the one: men use love to get sex, and women use sex to get love.”

She shook her head. “Don’t try to deflect because you know that’s not what I’m saying at all. Love and intimacy are not the same things, and lust is definitely something different altogether. How you have sex, or define it, is not important. The emotional connection you have, however you’re having sex, is what makes it go from good to amazing—and that includes everything from holding hands to kissing to orgasms galore.”

He’d had a lot of sex in his life, with a lot of different women, and in a lot of different ways, but that emotional connection BS? He wasn’t getting it. Sex was fun. It was easy. It felt good. All of the rest of it was just shit that marketers used to sell greeting cards and expensive jewelry—even if it did sound good coming from her.