Page 6 of My Reluctant Valentine

Coffee burned my throat as I choked this time. I stared at her through watering eyes, certain I’d finally lost my ever-loving mind. Maybe all those concussions in combat had caught up with me. Because Jake Hawkins’s little sister couldn’t possibly be sitting across from me in this diner, asking me to—

“What did you just say?”

“Sex lessons. I’d like you to teach me about sex.” She made the statement calmly as if she were asking me to teach her how to ski, but I saw the way her hand trembled as she reached for her coffee.

“Ella.” My voice came out strangled. I honestly didn’t know what to say in response. Except, hell yes. Sign me up. “Ella.”

“Little doctor.” I leaned forward, dropping my voice to ensure no one else could hear. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?Or maybe get my fucking ass beaten to a pulp by your very angry, overprotective brother?”

Her blush deepened but there was a glint in her eye that made my cock throb. “I can handle Jake.”

“You say that now,” I growled, “but you don’t know what I want to do to you. The things I want to teach you.”

The way her pupils dilated told me she wasn’t as innocent as she appeared. “Then tell me. In detail. Consider it a preliminary lesson.”

I forced myself to lean back as the waitress approached. Ella ordered pancakes, and I asked for my usual eggs and bacon. Once we were alone again, I studied her face. “You’re a virgin.”

“Yes.” She added another sugar packet to her coffee, not meeting my eyes. The nervous gesture was endearing and maddening at once.

“How is it possible that someone as beautiful as you...” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “That no one has ever...”

She laid her spoon down with deliberate care. “Would you believe I was too busy with medical school? And then the accident kind of threw my life into chaos.”

“Too busy. For anything?” I thought med students were smart. Apparently not if they had let her get away without showing her exactly what her curvy body was made for. Images of all the things I could teach her flooded my mind.

She fidgeted with her napkin. “I’ve had dates. A few kisses. But nothing... significant. Statistically speaking, about fewer than fifteen percent of people in their late twenties are still—”

“Ella.” I captured her restless hands in one of mine. Her fingers were small, delicate compared to my scarred ones. The contrast made something primitive in me nod with satisfaction. Then of course my thoughts turned to our other contrasts. Her curves, my hardness. My fucking hardness. I moaned silently,my cock a throbbing rod of steel in my pants. “Stop quoting statistics.”

“Mr. Sutton,” she said primly, though her pulse raced where my thumb brushed her wrist. “If you’re going to hold my hand like that while looking at me that way, I’m going to need to recite the entire nervous system to stay composed.”

A laugh escaped me. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely. Starting with the autonomic response that you’re currently triggering.”

I raised one eyebrow. “And which one would that be?”

She looked me directly in the eye as if she wasn’t affected by her own words. I knew differently. She might be able to recite the why and how of a body reacting under certain conditions, but then so could I. I knew the signs of fear, sadness, vulnerability. I knew bravado when it was staring me in the face. And underneath her clinical terms and sass, I could see she was nervous. Excited, but nervous.

“That my panties are wet. Very, very wet.”

I wanted to drop my head in my hands. Curse whatever alignment of the planets had led to this moment in my life, then, turn around and thank the fucking fates that it had.

“Do you know what naughty girls get when they talk dirty?” I murmured, watching her eyes widen and the slight adjustment she made on the seat. Was she hot and achy? Did her body even know what it needed? What it wanted?

“No,” she whispered, her hands clenching together.

“Tell me what you’ve done before, Ella.” I knew I had just crossed over the line. Gone beyond the point of no return. But I didn’t give a fuck. I’d fend off an entire army for this woman. For one taste of her lips, one touch from her hands. One fucking sip of that honey I knew was coating the inside of her thighs even as we talked.

“Kissing. Light petting. Nothing below the waist,” she recited softly.

“How many? How many men have touched you?” The thought of even innocent touches made me see red.

“Two. One in high school. One in college.”

“No one’s ever tasted you?” I knew by the look in her eyes, she knew exactly what I was asking. Had no man ever gone down on her sweet pussy?

“No.” Her answer was just a whisper of a sound, but I’d heard it. Heard it in the very depths of my soul.

---