Page 47 of Tempt Her

“And this guy?” Cade asks. “The painter? Is he just a fuck or something more?”

It makes me pause… lust rushing to my pussy, remembering Luke’s cock or tongue or his lips. But butterflies flip my happy belly, remembering how Luke holds me and talks to me too. How we share so much. How we’re not afraid to be vulnerable with each other.

“I don’t know yet,” I answer. “Luke is incredible. I’m so relaxed and happy with him. And then there’s Mateo. He’s so sexy and sweet.”

“Mateo?” Cade grins. “There’s two of them?”

“Mateo was my first kiss. We went to high school together, and he’s even hotter now. What are the chances?”

“Good, if you play your horny cards right.”

“But two men? I can’t do that.”

Cade sits back. “Do you want to?”

Can I do it? Can I tell her my fantasy and not be judged? So many times, I’ve shared my secrets and had my back stabbed.

But I trust Cade, and I cherish our new friendship. Biting my bottom lip, I confess, “Yes. I’d do both. Is that selfish? Or slutty?”

“Selfish?” She grins. “Hell no. The world takes enough from women, so there ain’t no shame in getting some back. And slutty? Well, that’s a word miserable people use because they hate themselves. Because they’re too chickenshit to fulfill their desires, so they judge those who do.”

“You know I’ve only been with Gentry. I mean, up until now. And still, in college, other women called me a slut.”

“Because they were jealous.”

I shake my head. “Jealousy is a blindness that doesn’t see another person’s pain.”

Cade toasts her coffee to mine. “Amen, slutty sister.”

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Make Me Feel by Elvis Drew

Iplay it off so well, acting stupid as Gentry has a tantrum in our kitchen, pissed he has to report to the Senate in Columbia and do the job taxpayers pay him for.

“It’s bullshit,” he whines, cracking his V8 open. “Fucking Shane Turner and his liberals threatening a filibuster. It’s business. It’s a medical procedure. Taxpayers shouldn’t foot the bill for someone’s bad decision.”

I cant my head, my tone innocent as I debate, “But I don’t understand. Why charge victims to collect the evidence for a rape kit when you don’t charge for collecting evidence in other criminal investigations?”

Trick #4:I relish him downing that V8, knowing three laxatives are crushed up in it. It will be a long drive for him to Columbia today…so many shit stops.

“I mean, like,” I keep going, my eyes wide and my voice sweet, “detectives don’t charge surviving family members for homicide investigations and all the labs required, and Fire Marshalls don’t charge to investigate house fires and all the measurements they take.” I smile, so big. “Do they?”

He fucking knows the answer.

I’m right.

He knows he and some asshole Senators are full of evil shit.

It’s a good law, and I support Turner and his party for trying to prevent hospitals from charging survivors fees for their required kits and tests.

“Keep your dumb blonde brain where it belongs,” he huffs, chucking his empty bottle in the trash. “Make sure those painters don’t fuck up my furniture.” He pauses, going for extra measure. “And the outside stays khaki; it’s traditional.”

It’s fucking ugly, but this house can be painted baby-shit green for all I care. I just want Luke back. And Mateo. If I have to suffer Ford, that’s fine too. At least he’s nice to look at, even though I hate him.

“I agree,” I reply. “Khaki is soyou.”

“Hopefully, I’ll be back tomorrow. I got a three o’clock tee time.”

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