A Perfect Ten (Forbidden Men #5)(36)

Someone stick a fork in me. I was crispy-fried and well done. Lounging on the mattress beside my midnight visitor, I blew out a breath and flopped my arm over my forehead as my breathing finally settled and evened out. But... “Fuck,” I breathed out. That had been...yeah. Mind officially blown.

She’d remembered her threat to sniff test my dick, because she’d attacked me first thing after she’d walked into my room and shoved me against the door before yanking at my pants and going down on me. I guess I must’ve passed muster, because the blowjob that followed left me so weak-kneed I almost couldn’t carry her to the bed after that to perform my own sniff test.

God, I loved the scent of a woman’s arousal. And the taste. And the softness of her inner thigh against my cheek.

Now she lay snuggled against my side in the dark. I closed my eyes and kept my lashes fused together, because it wasn’t like I could see anything anyway in this pitch black darkness. Then I just enjoyed the quiet contentment of the moment.

Curling against my side, she rested her head on my shoulder. Her breathing had also slowed, but her leg sliding over my thigh was still warm and damp. Just the way I liked to leave my woman: hot and sweaty and well ridden.

A triumphant smile curved up my lips as I palmed her hip to keep her attached to me. Damn, we were good at this together. Everything that had been bugging me yesterday and forcing me to stress draw cowered off into a distant part of my brain. All I could focus on was how amazing my post-coital glow was.

I expected her to start praising me any second. But what I heard sounded a lot more like, “Yuck. Eww. What is that?”

Wasn’t quite the, Wow, you’re the best I’ve ever had, I’d been expecting.

“Huh?” My cocky grin died a tragic, disappointed death. Stunned by any kind of negative review, I whipped onto my side so I could face her, even though I couldn’t read her expression in the dark. “What the hell are you talking about? That was f*cking awesome.”

When I reached her, she was arching her back off the mattress and wiggling as if trying to escape something under her.

“Wha...eww. Oren Michael Tenning, have you been eating crackers in bed?”

“What? No.” She knew my middle name too? I wasn’t surprised. “What kind of dork eats crackers in bed?” I sniffed at her nerve for even suggesting such a pathetic idea. “They were potato chips. Cool Ranch Doritos.” Because I was a cool guy.

She let out a big, disappointed sigh as if she thought I was hopeless. “Lovely. I have cool ranch crumbs coating my butt right now.”

“Mmm.” That actually sounded hot. “The better to lick off you, my dear.”

I reached for her to do just that, but she swatted my hand away, grumbling about the crumbs. As she sat up, I could hear her dusting herself clean, so I reached over to blindly slap some of the crumbs off the mattress.

“There,” I offered as valiantly as possible. “All gone now.”

Her answer was a disbelieving sniff. “You need to clean these sheets before I visit you again.”

I was so busy drifting off into a daze, thinking about the phrase, “visit you again,” and liking the idea of more encounters with her, I rattled off one of my habitual Ten answers. “What? And give up all the slut cooties I’ve accumulated over the years?” I even gave an audible gasp and set my hand against my heart, because f*ck, that’s just how I rolled.

She stilled. When I actually felt a cool draft waft off her, I realized, shit, I’d just f*cked up big time.

“Please do not tell me you’ve had other women on this bed since the last time you cleaned your sheets.”

Double, triple and quadruple f*ck.

“Um...sure.”

“Oh, sick. Oren!” She started to climb off the side. I knew if she left now, there was a good chance she wouldn’t be coming back, so I dove after her and tackled her under me.

“No. Wait.”

She growled as I rolled her onto her back. Then she shoved at my shoulders. “Get off me. Now! I can’t believe you—”

I kissed her silent.

I have no idea how I knew that would work, but shit, it actually did. She accepted the thrust of my tongue and even kissed me back. Then she went and wrapped her legs around my waist and dug the heels of her feet into the base of my back as her nails sank into my shoulders.

I broke off the kiss, panting hard, and pressed my forehead to hers. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

Her answer was just as breathless. “Why not?”

“Well...” Shit. I had nothing. Talking from the top of my head, I said, “One. You know I’m an *. I don’t...I mean, I’m not ever going to think of shit like...like cleaning sheets and wiping away all the past women. I’ll probably always be inconsiderate and...and...you know me! You’re my stalker. You know my work schedule, how to get into my cell phone, my middle name, what kind of f*cking soap I use. Don’t tell me you don’t know what an ass I am, too.”

She seemed reluctant at first, but she finally said, “Okay, you have a point.”

“Damn right, I do. And two...”

“Two?” she prompted when I didn’t come up with a two fast enough.

“Shit. You know me. I’m an *.” Really, why did I need a two when one seemed to cover it all?