Page 24 of Get A Fix

“I like this decision-making of yours,” he said, chuckling as he toed off his Prada dress shoes and then went to work on his tie.

“Well, you’re beautiful, so why in the world would I say no?” I fished the condoms and lube out of my bag.

“I don’t—I can show you my last test, had to get one for my latest movie and⁠—”

“You don’t want to use a condom?”

He shook his head.

“Well, you have all my information, so you know I’m⁠—”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said, peeling my shirt off and leaning over to kiss him.

His hands went immediately to my shoulders, holding tight as he kissed me back, his tongue pushing against mine, tangling, as I took what I wanted and he gave and gave.

When I broke the kiss, I told him to take off the rest of his clothes, and he stood up quickly and started on his shirt. I was much faster, my suit jacket tossed onto the wingback chair close to the fireplace, tie gone, dress shirt unbuttoned as fast as possible, and when I saw that he stopped to stare at me, I smiled.

“You need to be getting naked,” I ordered him gently.

“When I hugged you, I thought you had to be all muscle under those clothes, but I had no idea your body was to die for.”

I scoffed. “You see this?” I said, sliding my hands up his six-pack abdomen. “You are the fantasy come true. Some of us love our pasta too much and do not work this hard.”

“You’re hard everywhere,” he said, gazing at my groin, where my erection was obvious even through my briefs and dress pants. “And all that tawny, silky-looking skin…”

Tawny skin. Who talked like that? I would have teased him, but the words were making my brain fuzzy. I moved closer. “Touch me, then, and see.”

He kissed me, his hands hot on my torso as he mapped everything—abdomen, back up to my neck, then down to my hips—as I got out of my black leather loafers and went to work on my belt.

Something happened, though, all of a sudden, and it was strange. I had the weirdest feeling that rushing with this man was going to put me on the same list as every other man he’d slept with.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, his words nearly slurring. “I want you to⁠—”

“You have sex with everyone this fast?”

He met my gaze. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he asked, gesturing at me.

“I’m not that hot,” I assured him, taking a seat on the end of the bed. “I appreciate your stroking my ego, but I promise that my passion is not that fragile.”

He sat down next to me, shifting so his shoulder was behind mine and his hip wedged in tight, as was his knee. Clearly, he craved the closeness, and besides, it was not all that warm in the bedroom without the fire going.

“What does that mean—your passion isn’t so fragile?”

I took his hand in mine. “I mean, I will still want you even if you talk to me.”

“Talking,” he groaned, falling back on the bed.

I started laughing, turning to look at him as he covered his face with his hands.

It was funny. I was shirtless with an open fly, no shoes or socks. He had his shirt mostly on, as well as his briefs and one sock. We were the picture of interrupted passion.

“So you what, pick guys up, take ’em home, and have sex?”