Page 13 of Good Girl's Bad Lessons

“Maybe Simon isn’t into dirty talking,” she said, shrugging. “Not that either of us have tried, but I can’t imagine him saying these things.”

He clenched his teeth. Ah. Again with the ex’s preferences. Who cared? Not Nico. Yet he managed to swallow the unfamiliar possessiveness lodging in his throat, and squared his shoulders. If he did his job right and taught her all she needed to learn, she’d go back to Simon and get married. If lackluster sex had been the only reason why that loser had broken up with her, Emma certainly would be at an advantage in a month’s time.

Shit. Who cared about any of this?

“Piccola, not saying these things is a big part of your current situation.”

She sighed. “I guess. What about the men downstairs? I’m guessing penis is too clinical. Do you prefer dicks?”

He opened the door for her. “Cock,” he said, whispering it in her ear just before going round the car and sliding into his seat.

His groin stirred, his blood pumping hot in his veins. He touched the steering wheel but didn’t bother to start his car and just drummed his fingers on the leather. Man, when he’d screwed her in the club… That had been unexpectedly intense, and an awareness prickled him with the sheer image of it.

“Another question.” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Are you a sloppy kisser? Or is it not included in our sex education package?”

Sloppy? With one swift move, he pulled her into his lap, and within a second, he slammed his lips on hers. She gasped against his mouth, and he thrust his fingers into her hair, angling the back of her neck to intensify his exploration. The moment his tongue stroked hers, his heart flipped in his chest.

Lust exploded into overdrive inside him. During their session at the club, he’d been so overwhelmed by her beauty, the powerful way she made him feel, he had refrained from kissing her. He’d wanted to save the best for last. And now, damn it, he waved finesse goodbye. She squirmed on his lap, positioning herself closer, straddling him.

Thankfully, he’d parked the car in an area facing a greenbelt, away from the crowd. He hiked up the hem of her dress, loving that she’d kept her underwear off. He slipped a couple of fingers into her pussy, and she plastered her hands on his chest, fumbling with his buttons.

His internal heat burned so much that when she clenched both sides of his shirt and the top buttons flung through the air, a cooler breeze caressed his bare flesh. Only temporarily. Soon, she stroked his pecs, and he withdrew his lips from hers for a moment, to catch some air. Not only was she a great pupil, she was teaching him a thing or two about himself. A taco joint surely beat any Michelin starred restaurant if that meant having Emma on his lap.

“Can I ask you something?” she said in between kisses, as they both gasped for air.

“Not the best timing, but sure,” he said gruffly.

“When you took me to that place, did you get aroused because of me, or well, everything happening around us?” she asked, a touch of nervousness in her voice.

He cupped her face, wiping the hair away. “It was all you, Emma. All you.”

He’d barely paid any attention to the other people screwing, but having gone there still mattered to him. While he’d given her the excuse of teaching her how to kiss her inhibitions goodbye, their first time had been in a place that had nothing special about it. Sure, she’d probably remember the venue in the future, but because of its outrageousness, and not because of him. Part of his strategy was to keep reality in check at all times.

She worried her bottom lip, her gaze lasered on his. Flecks of silver gleamed in the depths of her soulful hazel eyes, and his fingers tingled to touch her. What kind of stupid idiot was her ex to let a woman like this go? Acid spilled into his gut. He was using her to get back what had been taken from him. No more, no less.

Chapter Five

“What are we doing here?” she asked when they entered the luxury department store. “I do have clothes.” She’d always taken pride in her pragmatic wardrobe and found countless uses for a simple scarf, and usually favored gray slacks and flirty pastel tops.

“Yes, but your clothes don’t scream sexy.”

Can’t they just whisper sexy? “I don’t want them to,” she said. “I’m a professional translator, not a burlesque dancer.”

He lifted his eyebrow. “I’m talking about after-hours fun…”

“Usually at the end of the day, I’m exhausted. Too tired to put on a show,” she said honestly. Ever since not receiving the promotion she’d hoped for a year ago, she opened her own business and now worked as a freelancer, which meant more hustling. Not that she minded. She had her career and hopefully, thanks to Nico, would marry Simon.

“My point exactly. Look where you are—begging for help from the expert.”

“Begging? Don’t forget you’re getting something out of it, too, lover boy.” She nudged his elbow. “Why do you want that house so badly, anyway? I’m sure there are other terrific places in Mauritius. In the world.” She gave him a sidelong glance. What made him jeopardize his friendship and have sex with her for a month?

“Second floor.” He pointed to the escalator and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “Women’s section.”

She followed him, noticing how his posture stiffened, his muscles stretching the high-end three-piece gray suit he wore. She had to admit the man was delicious. And irritated. Jeez. She’d just asked a question.

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