Page 2 of Sex Positive
Nash ignores her. “Can I ask you something?”
Charlie nods.
“Are you a virgin?”
Ice runs through her veins and her stomach lurches in surprise, but she keeps her face neutral.
Laughing, she asks, “What makes you say that?”
Nash shrugs. “Girls don’t usually say no to me.”
Charlie swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat. “Would it matter if I was?”
He stands and adjusts himself, not even bothering to hide it. “No, but it would certainly be odd considering howintenselyyou pursued me.”
His tone is unflattering, and her stomach twists with discomfort.
As if it’s a turnoff forherto pursuehim.
“No,” she lies firmly and with a confidence she does not feel. “I’m not. But it’s not like virgins are any different from people who aren’t.”
Nash shrugs as if to sayif you say so, and Charlie’s skin prickles. She stands, buttoning her jeans before tugging on her white Keds waiting at the door.
Nash leans against the kitchen island, observing her. “Okay, so who have you slept with?”
She grabs her coat from the kitchen barstool before facing him, her thoughts racing. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
He raises his brows, a slight lift to his lips. “Curious minds, Charlotte.”
Charlotte. God, she hates when people call her that. A stark reminder of her mother and all the myriad ways she used it to reprimand her.
Without thinking, and with a vitriol she can no longer contain, she snaps, “Wesley Quinn.”
The second his name passes her lips, she regrets it. It doesn’t help that she was imagininghimwhile Nash fondled her, a fantasy that would never come to pass. As ifWeswould ever agree to sleep withher. As if her paltry seduction skills could ever pull the eyes of Wesley Quinn from the dozens of women who fall at his feet on a weekly basis.
Nash bursts into laughter. Her stomach curdles at the sound, at the derision in his tone when he says, “Little Quinny?Are you serious?”
Charlie throws her shoulders back, doubling down. “Yes. Why is that so funny?”
He shakes his head, but before she can move, his fingers clasp her wrist.
“Maybe I don’t know Wesley as well as I thought.” His lips curl into a wry smile. “How about we continue this tomorrow?”
Before she can answer, he presses his mouth to hers. Holding her against him, he slides his tongue between her lips before she can pull away. A chill creeps over her skin, revulsion settling in her gut.
“See you,” she says, not answering his question.
Something flashes in his eyes.
In the elevator, Charlie leans against the wall, exhaling, unease and irritation weighing heavy on her shoulders.
She was certain Nash was the right choice. He’s tall and conventionally attractive, he’s intelligent, and she enjoyed their conversations about politics and books. He’s experienced—or so she’s heard—increasing the likelihood of having an enjoyable first time. But that proved to be untrue when his fingers started attacking her clit like a dog whose ball was stuck under the couch. Not to mention his complete disregard when she explained the best way to get her off.
Maybe she’s tired. Maybe she’s so in her head about what itshouldfeel like that she can’t accept what it most likelywillfeel like. Maybe her expectations are too high.
The elevator doors open to the main lobby with ading.Gliding through them, she waves to the security guard manning the front desk where she signed in as Nash Hudson’s guest an hour ago, then slips out the main doors.
After she reviews the reasons for the failure of this experiment—fingers too rough, mouth too wet, unwilling to communicate—she returns to her metaphorical drawing board.
