Page 4 of Good Girl's Bad Lessons

“Yeah. Said I suck in the bedroom,” she said, then chugged down the glass. “That’s a complaint I bet you never had.”

“Can’t say that I have.” He went to the kitchen, opened a few cupboards until he found wine glasses, and took one. When he returned, he poured himself some. What the hell could he say to make her feel better? He didn’t get this whole male/female friendship thing, which was why he never wasted time befriending the opposite sex. Still. A flicker of sadness gleamed in her pretty eyes, and he wanted it gone. “Listen, it has nothing to do with you. He’s the loser.”

She rolled her eyes at him, unfazed. “Whatever. It has everything to do with me. Simon’s perfect for me. And I’m perfect for him, if he’s willing to look past his stupid fantasies.”

He glanced down at the red contents in his glass. “He doesn’t know how to stoke that fire in you.”

“It’s not him. Like, I’ve never had an orgasm before. I’m good at faking it. So it can’t be him.”

Poor girl. “Never?”

“Never. But it’s not like I slept with the entire city.”

Like I have. Hmmm… “You don’t need the entire city. You just need one person to make you come.”

“I guess. Sex isn’t really that important for me.”

“How can it not be? Relationships start with sex and end with sex,” he said matter-of-factly. Hell, it probably had been that way between his folks, too. If they’d stuck with sex and not foolish emotions, they wouldn’t have had a fucked-up marriage and produced fucked-up children. Not that he’d ever have to worry about making the same mistake. He’d gotten a vasectomy for that exact reason.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t mean to hurt you, but—”

She waved him off, impatient. “Listen, I know you’re the sex king. I get it. But all I want is someone to share my life with. Have kids. Someone who will be there through thick and thin, like my parents’ marriage.”

“I’m sorry Simon wasn’t that guy,” he said, even though he didn’t feel sorry at all.

“That’s where you’re wrong. He is that guy. I wish I wasn’t such a bad lay.”

He gritted his teeth. Her low self-esteem about her performance bugged him, and he didn’t even know why. “Dio, you can’t be.”

She shook her head. “Let’s face it. I never even came. Well, it’s not as easy for girls.”

“Not if your man knows what he’s doing. It wasn’t your fault.”

She sighed. “How can you be sure? You weren’t there.”

Enough talking. A mix of frustration and challenge worked its way into his bloodstream, pumping his veins so hard, they were about to pop. He shouldn’t be doing this, but hell, it was too fucking late. “But I’m here now…and I’m about to show you that you can come. Take off your robe, get on the sofa, and I’ll teach you a thing or two about orgasms.”

Chapter Two

Emma looked at the enormous man in front of her. All those years, she always recognized Nico’s striking sexual appeal—after all, she had good vision. His six-foot-three imposing frame dwarfed her five-foot-five physique, but it wasn’t just about height difference.

A long-sleeved black shirt clung to his muscles. He’d rolled up the sleeves, exposing his strong forearms and… Her gaze fell to his hands. They were big, with long, tanned fingers, and though he didn’t do manual labor, they didn’t look soft like the hands of men who moisturized too much.

“On the sofa,” he said. “If you’re up for the challenge.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but she followed his demand. Hot as shit he could be, but she’d made peace with the fact she wasn’t orgasm prone. Maybe letting him try and fail would keep him honest and wipe the smug look from his ridiculously handsome face. He’d talked like there was something wrong with Simon.

Please. Simon was perfect for her, and she’d show it to him. It was hard for a player like Nico to understand her wanting to be with someone forever, which had been why she’d never given him much attention. She and Nico would never have worked, what with his revolving door sex life. She longed for forever, and Nico was an in-the-meantime kind of guy.

She sprawled on the L-shaped sofa, the butter-soft leather caressing the back of her knees. She could blame it on the alcohol or her bruised ego later. Now, she’d indulge in watching Nico try to make her come. And laugh at him later.

He kneeled in front of her, and a wave of masculinity crashed over her. Her nipples pebbled against her lacy bra, the cute overpriced lingerie she’d bought when she thought she’d be celebrating her coveted engagement.

A zing of desire moved through her—the excitement to prove Nico wrong. He undid the knot in her robe until the smooth string slid lazily to the side. Moisture evaporated from her throat, and she had to swallow twice.

“What do we have here, piccola?”

---