Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Really. It's just a kiss. Practice.
Like when he got out the cucumber.
And, sure, he picked a cucumber about the size of his unit (at my request), and I thought holy shit, how will that fit inside me?
Not because he was massive.
Because the relative size was massive compared to the largest thing I'd had in my vagina—a super tampon.
And that wasn't exactly a picnic.
Shit.
It's been three years.
And I haven't really, uh, dared penetration. I've never gotten off via penetration. Not on my own. And, well, I think I had a few internal clitoral orgasms in the brief time when I was having pretty good sex, but that was a long time ago.
And I—
I'm picturing Dare's hand between my legs and his other hand wrapped around his cock.
Not a vegetable.
His flesh.
Dare taps on the door. "You ready?"
That's right. Penis size. I never gave it much thought beyond the initial shock of the girth of the average unit.
Do women really think about it? It seems more like the province of men. But what do I know? I don't have a lot of girl talk in my life. Yeah, there were a few nights when Zelda and I drank too much sangria and started trading stories.
Hers were all about Archie, who "is surprisingly well endowed but lacking in creativity. Or maybe that's why he's lacking. He thinks a big dick means he doesn't have to try." And now that I think about it, she wasn't exactly a size queen, but she did express a certain fondness for the aesthetics of the penis. Fondness I never understood. Even before The Incident, I wouldn't have understood. But then again, the thought of Dare with his hand wrapped around his cock—
"Val." He knocks again. "I'm coming in if you don't answer."
Shit. "Still changing." I double-check the lock. I can't handle him walking in on me. Not at all.
Dare is hot. With the dark hair and dark eyes and the broad shoulders and all that muscled skin covered in ink?
And the way Dare looks at me now—
He does want me.
Maybe that's the problem. Not that he doesn't want me. That he does.
If he comes in here, I'm going to touch him. And I'm scared of what will happen.
That I'll freak.
That I won't.
Yes, he's a man, and he's a very sexual person, but his sexuality doesn't feel threatening. Even this morning, when I thought he heard me.
I wasn't scared.
I was turned on.
"You ready yet?" He knocks again.
"Not yet." Right. I need to finish this bet, so I can leave this dressing room and go somewhere I can't touch him.
He makes a hmm, sure is taking a while noise.
I slip out of my dress and into the first pair of slacks. They're a little snug, but they do fit. They're not flattering. Do these types of pants ever flatter curvy women? But hey, that means I win.
I win Dare demonstrating any technique I want to see, any way I want to learn it. This is a lose-lose proposition. Or maybe it's a win-win. I'm not sure anymore.
After I slide on the blazer, I step outside the room.
Dare's eyes go wide. He looks me up and down slowly, studying the outfit.
"It's terrible," I say.
He nods in agreement, but he doesn't concede. "'Cause the blazer is two sizes too big."
"This is my size," I say.
"That's the size you'd wear as a jacket."
"It is a jacket."
"Or over your sweater. Not the kind of thing you wear with nothing under it." He looks at the button. "Are you wearing something under that?"
"My bra." And now I'm picturing the two of us in that dressing room, him peeling the jacket off my shoulders and staring at my bra with wonder.
He doesn't lose himself in dirty fantasies. He stays here, in the Mango dressing room, debating the suit jacket. "I'll allow it. If you size down."
And it will look bad and I'll win a brand-new lesson. Anything. Screw kissing. Let's skip right to the good stuff. Your body connecting with my body. Show me how to do it. After all this time, I've forgotten.
"You need the size?" he asks.
"No. I have it in here." I slip into the dressing room, ditch the jacket, try the smaller one.
And, well—
I still think the pants look awful.
But the suit jacket, nothing under it look, is kinda hot.
Kinda really hot.
Like I could easily strip for him.
Uh, for someone.
"It looks good, doesn't it?" He chuckles. "Called it."
"The jacket, sure, but not the pants."
"It's the whole vibe." He taps the door. "Let me see."
I unlock the door.
He taps again. "Should I come in?"
"Yes."
"You sure?"
No. Absolutely not. But I would rather have him in here than the two of us out there. "Yes." I open the door a little wider.
He slips inside.
He swallows hard as he looks me over. "Fuck, Val. You look sexy as fuck." His eyes go to my chest. "Like you're going to invite me into your office and demand I get on my knees."