Page 42 of The Virgin Rule Book (Rules of Love 1)
Or maybe because we’ve been up-front about what we are.
Friends with benefits.
I finish the thought. “I want that. I’d really like to have sex for the first time ever. And to have it with you.”
That was easy.
As easy as buying shoes, as easy as talking to a friend, as easy as being with family.
“Tonight,” I add. It’s a relief to say because I want this so badly. I want it with every part of me, and I want it with him.
But Crosby is frozen.
He breathes out. Breathes in.
Fine, he blinks a bit.
But that is all.
I laugh, a nervous sound. “Maybe I do need a Leatherman to get you to talk.” The nerves missing before now clobber me over the head like a criminal sneaking up on me in an alley, and I twist my fingers together. “Crosby? Say something, won’t you?”
That’s what I ask.
And then I wait, terribly, awfully worried that I’ve broken him.
17
Crosby
Why am I not freaking out about deflowering my best friend’s sister?
Maybe because resisting Nadia has never been about her being Eric’s sister. It’s because I asked Eric to be my no-sex sponsor.
But Eric’s not here.
And I’m so damn grateful because I don’t want to stop.
I want to say to her, Absolutely, let’s go right this fucking second.
All right, her truth bomb does knock the breath out of me, and I have to get it back before I can answer her. She’s vibrating with nerves, and I can’t leave her like this.
“Yes.” I knock the side of my head, kick-starting my shock-stalled brain. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Her shoulders relax, and she lets out a laugh, chased with a long sigh of relief. Then she smiles like a sexy and innocent vixen.
That’s what surprises me the most. Nadia is a conundrum. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that. You’re so . . .” I have to hunt for the right word. “Bold and confident. You’re a woman who knows her own mind. You’re so . . . sexual. I didn’t expect you to be a virgin. You don’t seem innocent.”
The elevator doors open, and she steps out first. “I’m not innocent, Crosby. I’m simply inexperienced. But nothing is virginal up here.” She taps her temple.
I would love to know all her filthy thoughts, and I’m dying to know if they match mine. “What’s in there, Wild Girl? Tell me. I want to know every dirty thing.”
Her smile is devilish. “The other night? When I took a moment?”
I nod, my neck hot, the collar of my shirt suddenly too tight. “Yeah, I remember perfectly.”
“I imagined you on me, over me, in me. I want to feel all of that with you.”
I drag a hand over the back of my neck, letting out a low groan, my temperature shooting up to dangerous levels. With my other hand on the small of her back, I guide her out of the lobby and into the waiting limo. I tell the driver where we’re heading then raise the partition so we’re alone in the vast back seat.
I take her hand, linking my fingers through hers. “I want you so fucking much. But this is big. This is huge. I don’t want you to have any regrets.”
She furrows her brow, glancing down at our clasped hands, then back up. “Regret is not what I’m feeling now.”
I laugh lightly. “Me neither. But I don’t want you to feel it later.”
Funny, how telling Nadia how I feel is so much easier than anything I’ve ever done with any other woman, light-years easier than talking to anyone else has ever been.
“I want to do everything with you, for you, to you. I want it to be spectacular for you. You deserve that. You deserve to feel incredible,” I say.
Her eyes shine with lust and a warm kind of happiness. The sort of happiness that comes from within, from someone knowing you, understanding you.
“I’d like to feel that way,” she says in a tempting whisper.
My God, she is my undoing—so sweet and still so bold.
I run a hand down her arm, savoring the way she shivers. My other hand squeezes her fingers more tightly, and I don’t want to stop touching her. I don’t want to break this connection. “You deserve to feel like a queen being adored. A goddess being worshipped. A woman being consumed.”
Her eyes float closed, and her breath catches. When she opens those big chocolate eyes again, they’re glittering with desire. She parts her lips, her voice a little softer, innocent and hopeful, as she asks, “Will you consume me, Crosby?”
“Will I? That’s not even a question,” I rasp out.
Every inch of me is burning up with a lust so strong, so powerful, it feels like madness.
I gaze at the sensual curve of her mouth, at the inviting skin of her sensual shoulders, at the tops of her soft and wondrous breasts. I want to touch her, taste her, please her. But we should talk about expectations.
