Read Sex Machine: A Standalone Contemporary Romance for Free Online

come to expect from him.
    At some point, he disposed of the condom and his cock has hardened again. I wonder if he’s always hard.
    “No,” he says. “It’s you.”
    “How do you do that?”
    “Do what?”
    “Know exactly what I’m thinking.”
    “Because your every thought and emotion shows on your face. You’d be a terrible poker player, darlin’.”
    “Is that so?” I cross my arms over my breasts and stare at him. “What am I thinking now?”
    “You’re wondering how you can thank me for the lay and get the hell out of here without hurting my feelings.”
    My mouth falls open, but I force it closed and continue to stare at him. How does he do that?
    As if he has not a care in the world, he strolls across the spacious bathroom until he’s close enough for me to breathe in the bewitching scent of soap and sex he brings with him. “I don’t want you to go.”
    “I have to.”
    “No, you don’t.” His hands land on my hips, drawing me into his magical web once again. “We’re just getting started.”
    I shake my head. “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
    “What can’t you do, Honey bee?” He loops his arms around me, bringing all our most important parts back into contact.
    “For one thing, I can’t talk to you when you’re touching me this way.”
    His face lifts into a half grin that is utterly charming—and disarming. Releasing me but keeping his hands on my hips, he says, “Is that better?”
    “A little.”
    “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. Did I hurt you? I tried so hard not to.”
    “No, of course not. You didn’t hurt me.”
    “Then what is it?”
    I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “I thought I could have sex with you and not want it to be anything more, but if I stay, if we do… that … again…”
    “Ah, I see,” he says, affecting a grave expression that reminds me of how he looked after the awful accident during our senior year of high school. Back then, I wanted so badly to offer comfort he never would’ve accepted from me—or anyone. “You might want to stay longer, and knowing my reputation, that wouldn’t be wise.”
    “Yes.” I’m relieved that he seems to understand. Have I ever had a more serious conversation in which both parties are stark naked? Not that I can recall.
    “Can I let you in on a little secret?”
    I’d expected him to send me on my way, grateful that I hadn’t done what scores of others before me had probably tried and failed to do—change him. “Um, sure.”
    “Remember a month or so ago when I saw you at Matt and Julie’s party?”
    I nod. “I remember.”
    “And do you remember what you said to me in the bar tonight?”
    I let my forehead drop to his chest. “I’m trying to forget.”
    His soft laugh makes his chest rumble. “I wanted to say the same thing to you that night at Matt’s house. I can still remember exactly what you were wearing—a dress that had flowers on it and was all frilly and girly, and it showed off the tops of the spectacular breasts that’ve inspired many of my wet dreams over the years.” As he speaks, he drags his index fingers over the tops of my breasts. “And sky-high heels that showed off your endless legs. I had a hard-on all night with your name on it.”
    I look up at him. “Do you mean that? You thought of me that way? Before tonight?”
    “Honey Carmichael, I’ve thought of you that way since we were in second grade. Why do you think I was always pinching you?”
    “I knew you remembered!”
    Chuckling, he says, “You’ve always been hard to forget. And you’ll be especially hard to forget now that I know how soft your skin is and that your Gran nicknamed you well, because you taste like honey all over.”
    “So what’re you saying?”
    “I want you to stay awhile longer.”
    “What does ‘awhile’ mean?”
    “For me, it means spending the night. I’m not capable of forever or love or white dresses or picket fences. That’ll never be me.”