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It was Sam’s turn to blink, but his was from confusion rather than drunk from kisses. “Can’t what? Let me?”

  “No—I can’t come. No one’s ever been able to do it other than me.”

  With a laugh, he kissed me. “You’ve been dating the wrong guys, Valentina. You just need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  My eyes rolled involuntarily. “That’s what they all say. My body just doesn’t work that way.”

  His smile shifted, his eyes hardening along with the boa constrictor in his pants. “You can have an orgasm, which means I can give you one. In fact,” he said with a shift of his hips that had me slow blinking again, “I could make you come right here, right now, in less than three minutes. And I wouldn’t even have to take your panties off.”

  Now it was me who was laughing. “Sam, you’re crazy. We’re in public, and I’ve literally never—oh.”

  His hand—oh my God, his hand—had trailed up my thigh and under my skirts, not stopping until his fingertips were skimming the length of my center and his thumb was pressed against my clit.

  My hand slithered from the back of his neck to cup his jaw. “Sam,” I whispered desperately as he stroked me.

  His forehead touched mine, his lips millimeters away. “Shh—clock’s ticking.”

  He held me in place against the wall, his hand working my body through the fabric of my hot pants for only a moment before they skimmed up to the hem and dipped inside.

  My heart thumped like a bass drum, rattling my chest as he inched down. And when his fingers actually connected with my clit, my entire body contracted, toes to core to eyelids.

  This was the point at which I lost all sense of time, space, and self.

  The sum of my universe was cupped in Sam’s palm, at his fingertips as he sank into me to the knuckle. His palm squeezed and relaxed against my clit, his finger slipping in and out of me with every flex. His breath against my skin as he whispered things that sounded like prayer and poetry and pious praise. Some was filthy. Some was reverent. All was a blur, the sound underneath the thundering of my heart and the rasp of my breath.

  A flex of his hand, and my body involuntarily squeezed his finger so hard, he hissed a single word.

  “Fuck.”

  Another pulse at the sound.

  His hand tightened again, grinding, reaching for the depths of me. My body wanted him there so badly, it drew him in as a wave of heat spread from my chest and raced for every extremity.

  His free hand cupped the bend of my neck. My mouth opened with pleasure, and his lips brushed mine.

  “Come,” he said, his lips grazing mine without the connection I wanted. The sensation drove me mad. “Come right here.” His hand between my legs squeezed, his finger curling inside me.

  A moan, my hand on his face, my thumb brushing his bottom lip.

  His hips pressed into the back of his hand. “Come for me.” His voice, deep velvet, dark as the curtains around us, the sound rumbling from his chest into mine. “I want to feel you.” It was a whisper, a command, a demand and a request.

  And I had no choice but to say yes.

  As the world around me exploded in a blinding flash, I said yes many, many times, along with his name, a call to a higher power, and several swear words that would have impressed me if I’d been at all coherent.

  I’d had orgasms before. I’d had sex before. But never before had I been reduced to primary functions and relieved completely of my senses.

  I sagged against Sam—his hand slowed but didn’t recede. And then he kissed me.

  He kissed me so deeply, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think about anything beyond the seam of our lips, the tangle of our tongues, the juncture of my thighs where his hand nestled. That kiss held a thousand things I wanted to say, a hundred things I wasn’t allowed to feel, a dozen thank-yous, and a handful more yeses.

  Eventually, depressingly, he slowed his pace. Closed his lips. Reclaimed his hand. Leaned back. Looked at me in a way that made me feel more beautiful than I’d ever felt. And he said, “I told you—you just had to find a man who knew what he was doing.”

  I laughed, knowing all too well that he was right and knowing even better that I’d never find another man like him. Not as long as I lived.

  17

  Clitosaurus Sex

  Sam

  Val whooped as she jumped into my side and onto my thigh, and I tipped her, dipping her head almost to the ground. Her legs hugged the back of my arm and kicked over my head, her toes pointed at the Edison bulbs overhead.

  And all the while, my thirsty eyes drank in the sight of her smiling face.

  Her joy, I’d found, was inescapable.

  I straightened up and swung her around, putting her feet back on the ground, mourning the loss of her body curled around mine.

  That smile, red and lush. I’d watched her put on her lipstick backstage after I proved my point.

  Fuck, I would have loved to prove that point again. To relish in her sweet surprise, to experience all the firsts she wanted and the ones she had no idea existed.

  Everything about her was perfect, top to bottom.

  Especially bottom.

  Her skirts twirled when I spun her out, and when she returned to my arms, I reveled in the feeling of her flush against me. A few weeks of dancing together, and our bodies were in perfect sync. She anticipated every move and stepped into it, knowing by the pressure of my hand or shift in my feet which direction we’d go and where I wanted her.

  It was a strange comfort, the natural accord that came only from time and practice, trust and partnership.

  I’d never experienced togetherness like this before. And, oddly, my only desire was for more.

  The thought should have made me uncomfortable. Instead, I found myself smiling at Val, reveling in the sound of her laughter as I flipped her with ease.

  The song came to a close, and the band slowed down. Val brushed a loose lock of hair back, her chest heaving and face light.

  “I’m gonna go grab a drink,” she said breathlessly.

  “Let me get it. What do you want?”

  She laughed. “I’ll grab it on the way back from the ladies’.” Her hand brushed my arm and squeezed my forearm, and then she headed away.

  I stuffed my hands in my pockets, smiling. Amelia and Katherine swayed together, lost in conversation, oblivious to me. And with nothing to do, I moved for the edge of the dance floor, watching the crowd while I waited.

  Their faces were familiar, though I didn’t know their names other than the girls I’d taken home. Jenny in the pineapple-yellow pedal pushers, who made that sweet little moan when I kissed that spot behind her ear. Jana, who had been so nervous, she talked about her cat all night, up until the moment I got my hands on hers. BB with the punk-rockabilly pink hair and all the hidden piercings I’d become so familiar with.

  Their eyes brushed over me with a silent request, one they knew would be denied, judging by the look behind them. They said hello when it was appropriate but otherwise kept their distance, abiding the boundaries I’d set from the jump.

  And then there were girls like Patrice.

  I spotted her platinum hair weaving through people on a direct track for me. And when her eyes came into view, they were set with determination, her red lips curled into a seductive smile.

  Predictable.

  Patrice and the like were rare in my world—I’d developed a sense for them and learned to avoid them. They were the girls who believed the rules didn’t apply to them. The girls who thought they were different, that they were the exceptions.

  They all placed expectations on me, which was the equivalent of chains.

  Patrice elbowed her way through the crowd and nearly charged me, hips swinging in black capris, her tailored shirt knotted just above her belly button.

  “Hey,” she said, sidling up next to me. “What’s shakin’, Sam?”

  “Not much,” I answered, scanning the room for Val. “You?”

  “Oh, ju
st the usual. I’ve been looking for a dance, but you’ve been with your new girl nonstop. What’s the story?” she asked, attempting to mask the bite in her words.

  “No story. She’s a friend.”

  “You’re pretty chummy for friends.”

  I swiveled my head to pin her with a glare. “Yeah, we are.”

  Her hands rose in surrender, palms out. “I’m not judging. I’m just surprised is all.”

  “Why’s that, Patrice?” The question came out bored, but I hid the bite in my words about as well as she had.

  “She’s just…not your usual type.”

  “I didn’t realize I had a type.”

  She squirmed just a little. “You know what I mean.”

  “Obviously I don’t.”

  “She’s…I dunno. She’s not a small girl. Doesn’t seem very confident either.”

  “An hour ago, she was center stage under a spotlight, jumping on my shoulders like a circus performer. How much more confident can she get?”

  Patrice blushed but opened her mouth to speak.

  I cut her off. “And if you say another word about her size, I swear to God, I’ll make sure you can’t get into Sway for a month. I thought you were better than that, Patrice.”

  At that, she blanched. “Fair enough.” Her eyes darted behind me and narrowed. “Ugh, Ian. That’s my cue.”

  “Hey there, Patsy,” Ian said with an unfriendly smirk.

  “Don’t call me that, asshole.”

  He laughed. “Aw, don’t be sore, sugar. Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

  Ian reached for her, but she shrugged out from under his arm.

  “In your dreams,” she shot, turning to me once more. “Let me know if things change, all right, Sammy? You know where to find me.”

  Before I could permanently decline, she turned and walked away.

  Ian watched her go with open admiration of her ass. “Look at you, turning down pussy left and right.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m only one man with two hands, which just so happen to be full.”

  He snickered. “With Val’s ass, I’m sure they are.”

  My hand twitched at my side with an involuntary urge to pop him in the nose. “Why are you such a dick?”

  “Can’t help it. I’ve got so much to spare.” He glanced over the crowd, unimpressed. “Nail her yet?”

  “What’s it matter?”

  “It doesn’t. I’m just curious. I have this nagging feeling that she’s a virgin, and the thought of that ass of hers getting punished is too much to resist.”

  My simmering anger flared. “She’s not a fucking side of beef.”

  “Aren’t you noble.” He turned to me and laughed with condescending certainty. “Man, watching you wriggle around on the hook is too much. Just don’t go falling in love, Romeo.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Ian.” It sounded like I was kidding. I wasn’t.

  “I mean, seriously,” he said, turning to face me. His face was smiling. His eyes were not. “Look at you. Moral ambiguity looks good on you. Better than the bullshit you always put on. Always Mr. Cool, always have your shit together. Always the good guy. What you don’t realize is that we’re the same, you and me. All you’ve gotta do is get on my level, give up the act.”

  “You keep saying that. But it’s not an act, and I’m nothing like you.”

  “Not an act? Who’s the one lying to Val? Who’s the one leading her on? Tell me it doesn’t feel good. Tell me you don’t like having her on the string.”

  I stepped into him, shoulders square, jaw clenched. “I haven’t lied to her. I’m not stringing her on. And you’re fucking heartless.”

  He shook his head, the corners of his lips curling. “And you’re fucking hopeless.”

  I caught the scent of her hair just before I felt her hand on my arm. “Is everything okay?”

  I didn’t break eye contact with Ian. “Everything’s fine.”

  He laughed, a sound I was coming to hate. It shocked me that I hadn’t noticed before.

  “Speaking of fine,” Ian said, the tension easing, but I could still feel the tug. “I’m off to find tonight’s lucky girl. You kids have fun.” And with the tip of his hat, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  I exhaled slowly and counted to three, scooping Val into my arms to whirl her around. She held on to me like she might fly away from the force. As mad as I was, she might have.

  “What were you guys talking about?” Val asked after a moment, her dark eyes troubled, her brows knit to form the smallest crease.

  “Nothing,” I said, trying to will the word into truth. Because it wasn’t nothing. Not when it came to Ian, and not when it came to Val.

  She didn’t seem convinced. “Really? Because you looked pretty upset. Did he say something? I mean, I imagine he did. He’s always so…”

  “Annoying? Disgusting? Misogynistic?”

  Val laughed. “I was going to say forward, but that works, too.”

  “I don’t know if he can help it. He’s always loved attention, especially from women. I keep trying to tell him he doesn’t have to be so…well, Ian. But honestly? I think he enjoys it. Like he gets a rush from deceiving people, from manipulating them.” I shook my head and stopped talking. I’d already said too much.

  Worry tugged at her lips. “Does he manipulate you?”

  I laughed. “All the time. Every day. But he’s the closest thing I have to a brother. That’s what they do, right?”

  Now she wore a full-blown frown. “No. I mean, my brothers fuck with each other, but it’s always harmless. Well, usually harmless. They’ve been known to throw their fair share of punches. But true deceit and manipulation? Never.”

  And then I was frowning, too. He’d been my closest friend for what felt like forever, the one I spent more time with than anyone else. As I recounted the last few years, I realized we didn’t hang out with anyone else. Every other friend I’d had, he’d teased, pointed out every bad quality, and-or been an asshole to them. Which left him and me very much on our own.

  I think I’d known somewhere in the back of my mind that he’d done it on purpose, but I hadn’t fully recognized it until right then.

  And now, he was after Val.

  Ian pissed me off on the regular, but the bet had taken him to a level I didn’t like. I wondered briefly if he’d betray me but pushed the thought away the second it touched me. He wouldn’t. We’d been through too many years together for that.

  “Ian’s a dick, but you don’t have to worry about him. He’s like a dog with no teeth. All bark.”

  She laughed, the joke easing the strain in the air. But not the strain in my chest.

  So I did what I could—I kissed her and hoped I was imagining things.

  Nobody’d ever accused me of being smart.

  Val

  “So, I maybe got finger banged in public tonight.”

  The door slammed shut behind me, and I turned in our entryway to find Amelia and Katherine gaping at me with twin expressions of shock. Katherine swayed a little, reminding me just how drunk she was.

  “No. Fucking. Way.” Amelia blinked at me with owl eyes.

  I nodded, lips between my teeth, trying not to gloat. Problem was, I was honest-to-God proud of myself. Not that I’d done anything but stand there and hold on to him for dear life.

  “In public?” Katherine asked like she hadn’t heard me.

  “Backstage, just after the show. He pulled me behind the curtain and…” I shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

  “But…how…I…like…” Amelia stammered.

  “Sit,” Katherine commanded, pointing at the couch.

  We obeyed, and by the time we were seated, it seemed we’d all found our tongues.

  “Okay, how in the world did that happen?” Amelia asked.

  “I can’t keep my mouth in check around him and admitted a guy has never given me an orgasm. He set out to prove me wrong.”

  “Did he?” Amelia’s eyes widened, her
breath quickening. “Prove you wrong, I mean.”

  My smile curled up on my face. “Oh, he did. In less than three minutes. With my panties still on.”

  They broke out in laughter and squealing and exclamations, and I joined in with hot cheeks that were sore from grinning.

  When we calmed down a little, I said, “But I need a game plan. I’m supposed to be guiding the lessons, and I’m afraid I’ll keep having orgasms in public without one.”

  “Where’s the problem with that?” Katherine asked, smirking.

  I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. I just…I just want to regain a little control.”

  The effort required for Katherine to haul herself off the couch in her drunken state was exceptional. “This is a job for the whiteboard.”

  Amelia groaned and flopped back on the couch. “God, you are such a buzzkill. Diagrams are not sexy!” she called, her volume climbing as Katherine left the room.

  When she appeared again a few seconds later, it was with a whiteboard under her arm and a dry erase marker in her mouth.

  “Prease,” she said around the marker butt. “You have nevew sheen my diagwams.” She propped the board on the mantel and removed the marker from her mouth, uncapping it. “All right, let’s talk about sex.”

  Amelia and I broke into the chorus of the Salt-N-Pepa song of the same name.

  Katherine rolled her eyes. “This is serious, guys.”

  I gave her a look. “You’re about to make sexual charts and diagrams to give to my sex tutor. This is not serious. If this is serious, we should seek professional help.”

  She ignored me and turned to the whiteboard. “Okay, let’s list off the things you want Sam to teach you.” With a few swipes of her hand, she created a section for the list itself with subheadings for foreplay, positions, and geographic locations. “Just call them out,” she said after a second. “I can keep up.”

  Amelia and I giggled, curling our feet under us.

  I thought for a second. “Hand jobs. Blowjobs for sure.”

  “Ugh, that just sounds like the worst,” Amelia groaned. When we made faces at her, she said, “Don’t look at me like that. My palate is exceptionally small.”