I loved sex and got a rush out of a good, rough fuck, the same as I got a rush out of playful foreplay, and intimate lovemaking. Sex was sex. It was good even when it was just okay. But maybe for Avery, it was only good when it was a certain way.
I knew about BDSM. I’d overheard water cooler talk from the girls in the office when the whole Fifty Shades thing happened, but I’d never actually met a real person who was into that scene—that I knew of.
How into it was Avery? Who had she slept with before and what had they done? I wanted to know everything about her and her past, but first, I needed to bone up on my knowledge. I meant it when I’d said I’d try. It wasn’t my fault I naturally took the lead. She couldn’t blame me for that. Could she?
Fuck, I needed to do an internet search.
Her breathing tapered into soft, even breaths. How far would I be willing to take this? We hadn’t even had sex, and this already seemed more intense than any other hook-up. How was that possible?
The longer I considered my history with women and the big question mark that was Avery’s past, the more I felt like an uninformed virgin. Nine times out of ten, I was doing it missionary. I’d had anal, but only that one time on my birthday and Margaux never wanted to try it again after that. She hated it so much I never asked for it again—with anyone.
Come to think of it, I hardly ever asked for anything. If a girl went down on me, it was a bonus, never an expectation. My head was so fucked from finding out my best friend had fucked my long term girlfriend, I just wanted to be with women who were glad to be with me. And I bailed long before they ever had the chance to reject me.
My sister was right. I was still a mess from Margaux. She and Shane were married, yet here I was, holding my naked neighbor and thinking about the bitch who fucked me over with my best friend.
I dragged a hand over my face, trying to scrub away all the uncomfortable memories. I had to get over this. And maybe I was ready. Maybe that’s why I wanted a shot with Avery so badly, to prove I was ready to move on. But what if Avery was more than I could handle?
I glanced down at her sleeping face. Dried tear tracks marked her perfect skin, and my breath caught at how fragile she suddenly appeared. It was so different from the hard ass she usually pretended to be, yet I recognized this side of her too. I’d spotted some of this vulnerability in her the night she went out with that grease ball. I still couldn’t figure out why she’d go out with someone like that. Money or not, she was way too good for that guy.
Reaching for my phone, I tried not to jostle her. Turning the volume on low, I started my search. If I could just understand what the end goal was, I might have an easier time agreeing to her terms.
Within the first five minutes of searching, I knew I wouldn’t find what I was looking for. There was no forum out there with notes specifically tailored to Avery Johansson’s kinks. And that was what I wanted. I wanted to know her every fantasy, and I wanted to be the one in the driver seat, taking her places she’d never been before. It seemed those places would be new to me as well, but I was game if she was.
The longer I read about it online, the more intrigued I became. I definitely saw the appeal of such a delineated, dominant role. But I worried Avery and I were both attracted to the same side of the coin, which might be why she claimed we would never work as more than friends.
17
Avery
My body tensed as I opened my eyes. Nothing about waking up in Noah’s arms felt right. Not this place, not this room, and certainly not the shit he pulled last night.
Glancing to the side, I noted the way his chest rose and fell with each even breath. Silently sliding the covers off my body, I slipped one foot to the edge of the mattress and carefully eased—
A large hand closed around my bare arm. “Where are you going?”
I scowled at the fingers gripping my forearm, memories of last night rushing to the surface and warming my cooled rage. I wasn’t falling for his tricks today.
I yanked my arm free. “You’re awfully grabby.”
“You’re awfully sneaky. Where are you slinking off to?”
“I have to pee.” Not a lie. I couldn’t help that my internal clock woke me up every morning at dawn. A rigorous trip to the gym each morning instilled such habits in a person.