Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Not a kid.” He swept his eyes over me, gaze decidedly more appreciative than usual. “But you’re…innocent.”
“Says you.” I made a rude sound and pursed my lips. I knew perfectly well what my reputation was. Good guy. Preacher’s kid. Everyone’s little brother. Choir boy. Wannabe saint. “So what if me whacking myself with the spoon turned you on? Do you think I’m unaware that some people enjoy kinks like spanking? I’m so tired of people assuming I won’t get dirty jokes or might be easily shocked.”
The assumption was there every time someone like Holden stifled a laugh or Knox glanced around guiltily like I didn’t know my friends had sex and plenty of it. As if I didn’t know why certain words made Cal blush or what hickeys looked like on Monroe’s neck. They’d likely be shocked if they knew my choice of bedtime reading material. I wasn’t a prude or a delicate flower, and I glowered at Worth.
“I’m sorry.” Setting his spatula aside, he held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Everyone does.” I shrugged yet kept right on glaring. “You still haven’t answered the question. Did it turn you on?” This time I asked the question more pointedly, and my eyes widened as I fully realized the implication of his reaction. “Worth, are you kinky?”
Chapter Ten
Worth
“We are not having this conversation.” I stared Sam down, willing him to take back the question.
“Actually, it would appear we already are.” He grinned, another of his easy, impish smiles that made him far too tempting. I couldn’t afford to think about Sam and sex in the same heartbeat. I was already plenty aware he was all grown up, a fact my libido had been reminding me of all week.
“Not happily,” I grumbled, and Sam’s face fell. Because, of course, he was a good guy and wouldn’t force me to talk against my will, especially about sex. I regretted snapping almost immediately, but he was already bustling away, rinsing the spoon and examining the pasta pot.
“Fine. You don’t have to tell me.” His voice came out strained. “Looks like the water is boiling. Let me take care of the pasta. Rotini or spaghetti?”
“The kinky…curly. Rotini.” I spluttered exactly like my sauce bubbling in the skillet. “Damn it. Sorry.”
“You can curse around me.” Sam poured the spiral noodles into the pot of boiling water and gave them a brisk stir. “And you could also talk about sex with me.”
“I could.” I sighed as I turned down the heat on the sauce because he had no clue how easy it would be to do just that. “You’re a great guy, Sam. You’ve been a far better friend to me—”
“Ugh.” He made a pained noise and rubbed the back of his neck. “Can we please not turn this into a ‘just friends’ talk? Please?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” I replaced his hand with my own, massaging his tense muscles. He didn’t pull away, but he also failed to relax.
“That would be part of the same talk. It’s you, not me, and we’re better off as friends, and you couldn’t possibly see me as anything other than a friend, so why ruin a beautiful thing?” His words tumbled out, one after the other, little darts to my self-control. “There. Talk done.”
No longer thinking, I spun him around and planted the least graceful kiss in the history of kisses on his mouth. I didn’t have the most experience with this, especially sober, as casual hookups tended to avoid kissing, but I had a whole week’s worth of wanting and a mountain of frustration powering me.
I kissed him too hard and too fast, swallowing his surprised gasp and reveling in how he clutched my shoulders. The bite of his fingertips grounded me as much as it turned me on, and I sunk into his grip. The second I went pliant, he growled and took over the kiss, all softness and finesse where I’d been clumsy urgency. He licked my lips and danced with my tongue, holding me like I mattered. One kiss bled into another and another until all I knew was Sam and—
Hiss. We jumped apart at the sound of boiling water hitting a hot stovetop.
“The pasta!” Cheeks bright red, Sam whirled away to drain the pasta. “And I’m sure this is where you tell me you didn’t mean for that to happen, and it can’t happen again.”
I groaned because he wasn’t wrong. Trying to buy time, I motioned for him to add the pasta to the pan of sauce and busied myself with stirring and adding some more cheese. Tick. Tick. Sam radiated impatience as I plated the dinner, but he didn’t speak as he followed me to the table and waited for me to clear my work away. Clearly, this was on me to fix, and hell, if I had a clue. Even Buttercup looked confused from where she’d tucked herself under the table.