He blinked in surprise at her small outburst. He leaned closer, catching her clean, floral scent mingling with the fragrance of sex.
“I’m just your basic Midwestern boy,” he murmured, captured by the shine in her green gold eyes. He noticed her doubtful look. “I’m serious. I may have taken some forays into exotic lands as an adult”—he paused when she rolled her eyes at his lame attempt at symbolism—“but I’ve always remained a simple Midwestern kid at heart. You don’t believe me?”
“Let’s just say I believe you’re anything but simple.”
He laughed. He pulled down on the sheet covering her breasts. She tried to pull it back up. For a second, they played tug-of-war. Then he merely looked up at her, slightly exasperated but patiently waiting. Slowly, her fingers relaxed. He lowered the sheet deliberately, teasing his senses. He exposed the pale gold mounds and then the pink tips. Her nipples were in a state between arousal and relaxation. They appeared flushed, fat and luscious. He wanted to make them hard as pebbles all over again.
“You’ve got the prettiest breasts,” he said, admiring her openly. He gently ran his fingertips over a nipple. She inhaled sharply, sending the mounds higher. He glanced up at her. She looked a little flummoxed. “Please don’t hide them from me. Ever.”
He saw her throat convulse as she swallowed.
“Eleanor?”
“Yes?” she mouthed silently.
“Can you explain what your motives were again for turning me into a drooling animal in a room full of high-minded, serious people?”
Her eyes appeared huge in her finely wrought, small face. She lifted the glass and drank determinedly. When she’d drained the water, she had no other excuse but to answer him.
“I told you why I did that,” she replied shakily.
“Because you saw me from your condo, and you decided you just had to have me?” he asked, trying to restrain his sarcasm. He saw her expression and knew he hadn’t succeeded in disguising anything. She leaned across him aggressively and set her glass down on the table with a clunk. She looked irritated enough that he didn’t think she’d dragged her nipples across his ribs on purpose. That didn’t lessen his appreciation any.
“What’s so hard to believe about that? I mean . . . have you seen you?” she asked with incredulous sarcasm, waving down at his body. “So I went after what I wanted. That doesn’t mean I’m a slut. Or a witch.”
“Fine. If you say so.”
“I say so.”
“Okay,” he said, putting up his hands in a “don’t shoot the messenger” gesture. He stopped himself from laughing—barely—because somehow, he just knew she’d move from spitting to hissing if he did. “So . . . do you like your book?”
The fire drained out of her. She gave him a blank look.
“Born to Submit?” he prompted.
“Oh . . . yes,” she recovered, her voice sounding a little high-pitched.
“Is that your typical reading choice?”
“Erotica, you mean?” she asked, straightening her spine and meeting his stare determinedly. “Yes, it is. I read it exclusively. Do you like it?”
“Erotica?”
She nodded, her demeanor serious.
“I can’t say I’ve ever read any before. What’s it about?” he asked seriously, trying to match her mood.
“Oh . . . you know.”
He quirked his brows in a polite query.
“Sex, of course,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“That’s it?”
“Well, no . . . I mean . . . it’s about this couple: Xander and Katya.”
“Nice names.”