Page 7 of Flexible Standards

“I haven’t had sex in over a year,” she blurts out. Eyes wide, her hand flies to her mouth. “You didn’t hear that.”

A groan escapes me at the thought that this intriguing woman hasn’t been touched by anyone in a year or longer. I’m envious of the last man but desperate to be her next. “You’re fucking lying. You? There’s absolutely no way.”

“I’m not lying. So, I… I don’t know what you expect tonight. The invitation to spend time with you away from the bar and the strip was too good to pass up. I’m just”—she takes a deep breath—“I don’t want to unload the baggage, but I haven’t had sex in at least eighteen months. So if that’s what you want…”

I bring our joined hands to my lips, kissing the back of her hand, and she offers a small, lopsided smile. “I didn’t invite you here for a shag, Isla. Though, any man would be a fucking idiot to say no if that’s what you wanted. Whatever you want to do tonight, I’m all yours.”

Shit, this is escalating quickly…

But truly, I don’t fucking care.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to waste your time. I can grab a ride?—”

“Isla.” I close the distance, sliding my free hand across her jaw to the nape of her neck, tangling my fingers in her hair as my thumb rests on her cheek. “You are not a waste of time.” She draws her lips into her mouth for a moment, my eyes falling to them. “Please, stay.”

Lifting onto her toes a little too quickly, her nose crushes mine in her rushed attempt to kiss me. She steps back, rubbing hers, laughing, “See? Fuck! This is so embarrassing.”

“Come back here.” I snake my hand around her waist and pull her to me by her lower back. Tucking her hair behind her ear, I lean in and press a single kiss to her cheek and whisper, “We’re going to try that again, even if it takes forty more tries for me to properly kiss you.”

I pull back, her eyes fixated on mine. I can’t wait another moment and kiss her, though I proceed with caution. She’s nervous, tight-lipped, her body rigid against mine. I don’t want to push for more, but she relaxes and opens for me. My tongue sweeps across hers, and as she moans into my mouth I nearly lose my resolve to wrap her legs around me and make love to this goddess all night. Her hands slide up my chest, cupping behind my neck and…

Shit, I’m fucking hard from a kiss.

“Thirty-nine to go?” she asks against my lips, and I can’t help but laugh.

When we finally break apart, I reply, “Minimum. Practise makes perfect.” I brush the pad of my thumb to her bottom lip before chastely kissing her.

“Thirty-eight.”

I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face. “That one doesn’t count. You have your book to get to, and I need to find out why my favourite character was killed off in a battle. But I intend to make the next one count.”

I lead her back to the sofa and bring the gin and tonics over before making my way to the bedroom to retrieve my device. That woman doesn’t need practise by any stretch of the imagination, but I’d happily taste any inch of her that she’ll afford me.

isla

. . .

Sam and I spend the next two hours in near silence, save for the occasional giggle from me or gasp from him when we get to various chapters. I wouldn’t necessarily call this a date, but it’s absolutely the best date I’ve ever been on.

Though I love the story I’m reading, my heart has been racing since he kissed me. He’s the perfect man, practically fictional. I’m in my own head about all of this, wondering if this is just one night or whether it could be more. Fuck, I want it to be more. I don’t know anything about him, other than the fact that he loves to read, but there’s something about him that I’m drawn to and can’t ignore.

I’m in the last couple of chapters of my book, hoping the author wrote her trademark anal in the epilogue. Unfortunately, it ends sweet and romantic, but the next book promises a red-flag billionaire. Based on the reviews, it’s a bit hotter than the last, so I download it onto my device, excited for a bit more spice.

I start the prologue, but my eyes fly up when Sam yawns. Sadly, our little bookish night of debauchery has come to an end. “If you need to be up early for work, I can?—”

“Stay.”

“You’re yawning,” I chuckle. “I’ll just?—”

He doesn’t look up from his device, placing a hand on my thigh. “Stay the night.”

My laughter ceases, my pussy a little too excited at the prospect of spending the night with him. Down, kitty.

“If you want to. I’d like you to. I promise to be on my best behaviour.”

I swallow hard and reply, “Okay.” My voice is barely a whisper, and I hate how meek I sound.

“But I can’t guarantee I won’t kiss you, again,” he teases, a little dimple appearing on his cheek. “We have at least thirty-eight to go.”

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