Page 55 of Pulse
“Then watch a cooking show or read a romance novel. Sometimes, I pretend I’m going to meal prep, and I make these specific menus that look amazing on paper. I’ve never once used them.”
He laughs.
“That’s it. I’m incredibly boring,” I say.
“Tell me more about your romance novels. Are they filthy? Pure smut? What kind of things are you into?”
My throat tightens as a flame is lit to my libido. Troy in sweats and no shirt is one thing. Troy in sweats, no shirt—sans push-ups—and wanting me to discuss smut is a whole different animal.
“It’s a little of everything,” I say, watching his reactions closely. I squeeze my thighs to help quell the ache building there. “Sometimes I go for the sweet, small-town boys. Other times, I’m into the billionaire bad boys.” I smirk. “I have moments where I want erotica and read it just for the sex.”
“I see.” He shifts his weight on the bed. “What’s the hottest thing you’ve ever read?”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
I laugh. “There’s no way to pick just one. They’re all so different.” I hold his gaze. “Now, if you’re asking me what I think is hot in real life, that’s a different story.”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
His tone is low and gravelly, scraping over my flesh. I shiver beneath the blankets and wonder how far I can push this conversation … and if I should. He’s the one who put the brakes on earlier. He’s made it clear that we need boundaries—and he’snot wrong. But this feels so natural.It feels so damn good.He has to know he’s throwing fuel on the fire.
I glance at him and find him smirking.
Fine. I’ll toss a match on your gasoline.
“I don’t mind a little choking,” I say, smirking back at him. “A little spanking. I think it’s hot when the guy lets you know what they enjoy so you can please them and then have him tell you how good you are.”
Troy’s eyes blaze. He balls the blankets in his hands, squeezing them until his knuckles turn white.
“Now let me ask you something,” I say. “What’s the difference between this conversation and kissing me? I’m curious.”
“This is just a conversation. But if I kiss you, that’s different. I’ll want to do it again. And you might get the impression that I’m the kind of guy that a girl like you could have a real relationship with. That assumption will cause problems.”
“Because you’re not that kind of guy?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Why?”
He falls onto his back and looks at the ceiling. “I’m fucked up.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I mean it.”
“So let’s say you’re right. You’re fucked up. Does that make you unqualified to be happy?”
He doesn’t answer me.
“We’re all fucked up in one way or the other, Troy.”
“I’m thirty-seven. You’re twenty … six?”
“Close enough.”
He sighs, rolling onto his side to face me. “You have your whole life ahead of you. You can get married. Have kids. Be the mother that your mother was to you.”
