Lacy gave a supportive smile. “But you can. Although I see why he wouldn’t think so. You do, too, don’t you? Are you ready to ma—woman up?”
Yes, okay. She could. She would. Because she cared about Noah, and, more important, she cared about herself. She liked the way Noah was with her in the bedroom. In all honesty, it was the type of physical relationship she’d been longing for. Why had she thought it was against the movement to deny her wants? And even if it was, why did she care?
Whatever. That thinking was over. She was turned the right way now, seeing things straight. Now she just had to convince Noah that he could trust her the way she’d learned to trust him.
CHAPTER 8
Noah stared at his screen, reviewing the last paragraph he’d written. He’d used the word cock, twice, it seemed. Repetitive. His editor would not be happy. But there were only so many other words to use for the male genitalia, and so few sounded sexy. Dick worked. But penis? Shaft? Love-wand? No, definitely not that.
The same was true for the female anatomy. Clit was about the only acceptable word. Whenever he tried using euphemisms—bud, nub, sex—he’d get someone bitching. Apparently using the “wrong” label substantiated the loss of a star in an online review. So he either disappointed his editor or he disappointed his fans. There was no winning.
He read his last sentences again: My cock twitched at her entrance. I drove my cock into her, burying myself to the balls. He’d get eye rolls at the use of entrance but at least he could delete the second cock and simply say, I drove into her. He called that a compromise and moved on to his next paragraph.
Except now he was distracted. Not only was writing sex hard—he almost laughed out loud at his own pun—but it also, on occasion, made him hard. Thinking so deeply about the act, who could blame him? Especially when he’d so recently had amazing sex. With an amazing girl. Scratch that, an amazing woman. He could still feel the snug fit of her around his dick (not cock, editor), could still hear the erotic sound of the bed knocking against the wall as he slammed into her.
Wait, no, that was actual knocking. On his door. He glanced at the time before shutting his laptop. It was nearly ten. Jaylene was the only woman who would think of disturbing him so late at night, not that he considered it late. At least, he hoped it was Jaylene. His deadline was fast approaching, and he should be focused on the words. But Jay was a very happy distraction.
He was grinning as he opened the door, still grinning as he took in her appearance. She wore a short denim skirt and cami—God, how his fashion vocabulary had increased since writing women’s fiction—that hugged her tits and dipped at her neckline. He could probably get a sneak peek at her breasts if she weren’t holding something in front of her cleavage. A book. She was holding a book.
Fuck. She was holding his book.
Did she know? She couldn’t know. It was impossible. He’d been so careful. Maybe she’d just bought a copy because the discussion over it had led to the most incredible sex—of his life, anyway. Except she was holding the mass market edition, which wasn’t available for purchase yet, which meant … well, he wasn’t sure what it meant. Had she received an early autographed copy in one of his giveaways? He’d mailed some out a couple of weeks before and though he hadn’t known her yet, he was certain he would have noted the address since he was about to move into the same area.
And however she’d gotten it, that didn’t mean that she knew he’d written it. Or did it? Dammit, he should have come clean and told her before. Now he’d stalled long enough to make it a thing and in his experience, things were never good in the early days of a relationship.
All these thoughts raced through his mind in a matter of seconds, so he couldn’t be sure that she read his panic, but if he didn’t say something soon, it would be obvious. He broke in with the good old standby, “Hey!”
Should he pull her in for a kiss? He wanted to. It would be natural, but had he waited too long?
Jaylene helped by taking over the situation. “Can I come in?” Forward women were totally awesome. God bless the feminists.
“Of course. Come in.” As he shut the door behind her, he took a deep breath and gathered himself. If she did know, at least she’d come by to discuss it with him. If she didn’t know, then it was probably time she did. When he turned back to her, he was ready.
So was she. “It seems we need to talk,” she said at the same time he said, “We should talk.”
They did the obligatory awkward laugh and all he wanted to do was draw her into his arms and carry her into his bed. But there was this. Book. God.