Best Laid Plans

She clears her throat. “Nibbling and biting. We start with little nips and they’d probably lead to bites. Is that how the biting progression works?”

My body hums at the prospect. What I wouldn’t give to drag my teeth along that sweet flesh of her neck. To bite into her like a piece of ripe fruit, and savor the taste . . . “I believe that’s a fair description.”

“And it’s fun? Do you think it’s fun?”

“Is pizza the greatest food ever invented? Is beer proof of the evidence of God? Is Tom Cruise shorter than me?”

She cracks up. “I feel like that last one doesn’t quite belong.”

“Honey, he’s so much shorter than me. I went from yes, to hell yes, to hell-to-the-mother-fucking yes.” I figure the only way to survive the absolute torture of being her at-an-arm’s-length sex tutor is to keep it light and make jokes.

“Fine. I’ll just add three check marks next to biting, then.” Snagging a pen from her purse, she marks the item off on her list. “Definitely a keeper.” She peers at the next option. “Spanking. We’ve already talked about that.”

“And I’m looking forward to swatting your ass.” I rub my hands together, then mime swatting.

“My, my. Aren’t you eager?”

I point a thumb at my chest. “Big fan of spanking.”

“You are?” Her tone is drenched with curiosity.

“Hell, yeah. If it’s done right, it should feel good for you too.”

“I hope so,” she whispers, then ever so briefly she nibbles on one side of her lip, telling me that even though she’s never been spanked, she’s probably going to like it a hell of a lot.

“What do you think about role-playing?” Her eyes are wide and eager as she tosses out the question.

I think I’m already in love with her list. I’d like to give thanks to the heavens above that she’s a woman of books and learning, that she researched thoroughly and penned this most magnificent agenda. “What sort of role-playing do you have in mind?”

She taps her chin. “I could pretend that my kitty cat is stuck in a tree and you could play fireman coming over to rescue my—”

“Pussy?”

A sheet of mortification slides over her face. “Gabe.”

“Pussycat?”

“Gabe!”

“Fine, fine. Fluffy. I’ll rescue your Fluffy.”

She swats me. “That’s not much better.”

“Your furball?”

She balls her hands and pretend punches me.

I grab her fists and meet her gaze. “I think we need to add dirty talking to your list.”

“Do we?” Her voice is a little breathy.

“You need to be able to say pussy, cock, and dick. Can we get you there without you turning red?” Lightly, I run a finger down her cheek. Touching her feels a little illicit, but I figure I’m allowed some leeway, as this can’t be construed as kissing her.

Clearly.

And sadly.

She turns away, lifts her chin, and whispers, “Pussy.”

“Well done.”

She squares her shoulders, preparing for a challenge. “Cock.”

Mine rises to attention. “Look at that. You’re a natural.”

She turns to meet my eyes, hers a little fiery. “Dick.”

I whistle my approval. “You’re a master student at dirty words. All you have to do is say ‘Fuck me hard,’ and you’re going to pass this brief lesson with flying colors.”

She parts her lips, then shakes her head, perhaps a little embarrassed now. “I’ll save that one for another time.”

That saddens me, but all things considered, it’ll probably save me from hitting inappropriate levels of steel on the erection-o-meter. “Fuck me hard” is pretty much an iron-clad guarantee I’ll go off the arousal charts. I return to her list. “What sort of role-playing interests you?”

“I have this scene in mind . . .”

Scene. My ears like the sound of that. “Set the scene.”

“I was seeing myself as a naughty housewife wearing an apron. Can you picture that? When her man comes home and she opens the door wearing only an apron?”

I don’t stifle a groan this time. Instead, I let a rumble work its way up my chest and escape my mouth. “Aprons are hot as fuck, especially when there’s nothing under them.”

“So you want me to open the door wearing heels and an apron with nothing underneath?”

Now.

Right now.

Tomorrow.

Every second.

Because that image will be enough to feed an entire album of fantasies, and it can’t happen soon enough. “If that’s your fantasy, Arden, I would be happy to knock on the door. You think you’d like that?”

A flicker of desire crosses her eyes. “I think so. That’s what I want to find out.”

“Are you trying to figure out what men want, or are you trying to learn what drives you wild?”

She licks her lips, stares down at the river. “Both,” she whispers, her voice a little bare, a little nervous.

She lowers her head and adds Aprons to her list. She glances up at me almost shyly, and all I can think about is her opening the door in an apron that barely covers her breasts, one that exposes the curves of her ass.

I peek at her list, so I don’t linger too long on the album of sexy apron images my brain has assembled for me like a playlist.

And the next item isn’t any easier to handle.

Striptease.

I shovel a hand through my hair, gritting my teeth.

This is going to be the toughest game of charades I’ve ever played. “How are you going to do that without removing any clothes?” I rasp out, and my voice practically catches on the grit in my throat.

“Oh, don’t worry. This one is easy, actually, because we don’t have to touch. I thought maybe I could practice stripping down to a bra and panties.” She lowers her voice to a confessional whisper as my internal temperature rivals the surface of Mercury. “I’ve always wanted to do that. I’ve never had the chance.”

I groan. “What kind of asshats have you been dating? Wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear about them. I want to hear about you.”

“You do?”

I cup her chin. “Listen to me. You need to be with someone who embraces all that you are. If you want to strip, you need to be with a man you can say that to. If you have no interest in doing a striptease, you need to feel free to say that as well. You need to be you in and out of the bedroom.”