Page 66 of When There Was You
He offers a half shrug. “A guy’s got to learn about the G-spot somewhere.”
Our food arrives, interrupting us. I’ve got to admit, he’s a smart man;Cosmois full of sex tips. That he cares enough to research shows me his ego is right-sized. And there’s no question he knows his way around the female parts…hell,Idon’t even understand the elusive spot he just referenced.
We’re quiet as we dig in: me to French toast and sausage links, and him to a cheeseburger and fries. I steal a few of his fries and he snags a sausage in unspoken agreement, as if we’ve been eating together for years.
Outside, after our meal, he presses me against the car. He cradles my neck and brings me closer, his lips claiming mine, revving my internal motor as he kisses me senseless. Heat shoots through me like a wildfire and a whimper slips out.
“I want to lick every drop of syrup from this mouth,” he murmurs.
Yes, please.
Back on the road, Butch pushes in a tape and unfamiliar music filters through the speakers.
“Who is this?”
“The Marshall Tucker Band.”
“Never heard of ’em.”
“Have you been living in a cave?” he says, tone incredulous. “Ohhh…Californian. Maybe you ate too much tofu and alfalfa sprouts that it stunted your growth?”
“Maybe you ate so much fried okra and biscuits it affected your musical tastes?”
He chuckles and combs his fingers through his thick locks, leaving it tousled, and my gaze snags on it. “Marshall Tucker is the quintessential Southern rock band. Helped establish the entire genre. They’re brilliantmusicians.”
I shrug. “Never heard of Southern rock either, but this doesn’t sound very rock and roll.”
“Do tell who you consider a proper rock band.” He scrubs his jaw, a smile forming. “Let me hazard a guess. You’re into thehair bands.”
I smack him playfully on the arm. “I’m a huge Van Halen girl. Love U2, the Stones, AC/DC, Zeppelin, The Who, Pat Travers, Ozzy…a vast assortment.” I don’t mention Mötley Crüe in case he considers them hair metal.
He scoffs. “You have so much to learn, young’un.”
I roll my eyes. “Suppose you’ll have to teach me your ways,oh wise one.” My words drip with sarcasm.
He chuckles. “Or just spank your pretty, bratty ass.”
My breath catches at the instant visual. Me over his lap, behind bared, his big hand slapping my cheeks. It shouldn’t sound so alluring…but does. “Yes, please,” I murmur.
Butch lets out a long, growly groan that shoots right to the spot already tingling from the image in my mind. “You’re killing me, Sundance.”
With a predatory gaze, he floors it. He’s not the only one in a hurry to get back to my place.
Thirty-Six
Butch backs me into a corner as the elevator rises toward my floor. “I remember exactly what was on my mind our first time in an elevator,” he murmurs. His tone heats my blood to a rolling boil.
“Which was?” I whisper.
“Exploring every inch of you.” He presses closer, tilting my face up to meet his. “And that I was one lucky sonofabitch.” Our mouths crash together, opening so our tongues can swirl and dance.
I’m weak-kneed and breathless when the elevator lurches to a halt and dings. He tugs my hand and leads me down the hall. Once inside, his imposing frame dwarfs my tiny studio.
Tossing my keys and purse onto the small dining table, I hurriedly shrug off my coat. “Want a drink or something?”
“Or something,” he agrees, eyes fixated on me.
I gulp. My bed beckons, blatantly obvious in my one-room apartment. In seconds, he’s got me flat against it, and we scramble to discard our clothing while only minimally breaking contact.
