tightening awareness in her breasts, her tummy, her thighs.
They went to the third door, and his body still crowded hers in a way that made her indisputably
aware of the fact that he was incredibly muscled and big, and was standing right behind her. His free
hand cupped her waist and he bent to whisper in her ear, “You okay?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, and once the door opened, she stepped inside, taking in a deep breath. She
was tempted to explain to him she had been penetrated but not really taken … tempted to explain to
him she had been kissed but she had never really gotten lost in it … but before she could do all this, he
started taking off his jacket. Muscles rippled under his stark white shirt.
“Will you unzip your dress for me? I’d like you in panties when I sit down to talk to you.”
She unzipped without preamble, for physical nakedness had never been the problem with her. She
wasn’t self-conscious about her body. She worked hard for it: daily yoga, a marathon a year, and she
ate like a rabbit half of the day with greens to spare. Which was, in part, why she couldn’t understand
the unsteadiness in her legs as the material pooled at her feet, and the shakiness in her hands as she
quietly folded the dress onto a living room chair.
“We could forgo the talking until we’re done, wouldn’t you say?” she proposed.
“I don’t think so,” he said, eyes sparkling as he took inventory of her half nakedness in one quick
sweep. “Strip off your bra,” he said as he plopped down on an oversized espresso-colored couch. “And
come here for a bit.”
Monica hadn’t really been prepared for doing this tonight. She’d considered her intimacy dilemma
for hundreds of nights, wondering why Daniel Lexington seemed to be the only man she felt truly
comfortable with. She’d wanted to explore her femininity safely, with someone who would not make
her feel judged or defective, but she hadn’t realized tonight would bring the golden opportunity when
he’d attended the event alone. As alone as Monica.
Suddenly she stood in her white lace panties, barefoot with red-painted toes, her pearls, and her bun,
Daniel’s expression calm and easy as he patted his lap. “Come here and talk to me like you just did.”
She was stiff as a board as she sat on his lap, her lungs closing when his arms enveloped her and he
caressed her side with all five tips of his fingers. “How many men have you been with?”
Tingles raced under his touch, his embrace reminding her of the ways he’d held her when she was
young and she’d ached to curl up to him like a kitten. A stirring of the longing she’d felt back then
unraveled in the pit of her stomach, and she could almost feel the melting of all her inner walls.
“Three,” she murmured as she relaxed her weight into him. Up close, Daniel’s masculine features
were so riveting, he could’ve been airbrushed. His jaw held a small evening shadow, and the shadow
called attention to his beautifully full, sensual lips, lips which Monica struggled not to stare at as she
asked, “And you?”
“Does it matter? I’m not having the least bit of trouble with my erections.”
She laughed faintly, and he smiled and moved his hand to gingerly stroke the tiny rises of her spine.
“Just relax. Talk to me. If it will make you feel better.… I’ll tell you I’ve been with an embarrassing
number of different women. But then you already know I don’t like to keep one for long.”
She did know. She knew more than she might have liked, but enough to know that he was perfect for
this.
She sighed at last, resting her forehead on his. “I don’t know where to begin. I can’t enjoy it. I can’t
climax. I can get aroused, but I can’t reach fulfillment. My mind won’t let me.”
His fingers slid up her neck and lightly traced her lower lip before they slid back down to her
collarbone. The touch was a whisper, but so powerful, she trembled. “Have you tried to involve it in
what you’re doing?” His low-pitched voice carried a unique force.
“Not really.”
Slowly, she unbuttoned his shirt, watching her fingers as they undid each of his buttons. She wanted
him to be as naked as she was, and she eagerly, almost roughly, spread his shirt apart. She froze when
she saw the cursive letters tattooed on the left side of his chest.
She had never, in her life, seen a more beautiful male torso. Golden skin spread taut over lean and
ripped muscles. He was iron hard under her fingers, but also smooth.
She was so engrossed she didn’t realize his fingertips had delved partly into the waistband of her