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We started walking again, turning back to our hot dogs. Thankfully, I had on Oprah’s Burberry peacoat so no one could spot the anaconda in my pants.

“So, when should we have our lesson?” she asked, avoiding the word blowjob.

I found myself both disappointed and relieved—I didn’t really want to choke to death on a hot dog.

“Tonight,” I answered without hesitation.

“Tonight?” she squeaked.

“Well, our lessons are almost up,” I said, ignoring the flash of disappointment that followed the words. “No time to waste. We’ll go to my place after work. Unless you have plans?”

I didn’t miss the look on her face, which matched that sick feeling in my chest. “No…no plans. But…well, do you mind if I swing by home first? To…freshen up?”

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

She paused. “It would make me feel better. Plus, I’m wearing my granny panties.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Doesn’t matter to me. They’re not gonna be on long anyway.”



Val

When the opening notes of Wicked filled the theater, my nerves hummed with anticipation.

By the time intermission rolled around, the hum had turned into a buzz that echoed in my brain like a swarm of murderous wasps.

And when the show ended, I was almost positive my guts had turned into snakes and that I should really consider a visit to the ER.

At least that way Sam wouldn’t see me naked.

Not that I didn’t want to be naked with him or see him naked. I would have climbed a moderately sized mountain if it meant naked Sam was waiting at the top of it. But the thought of him seeing me exposed, with all the things I hated about my body on display, was almost too much to bear. And that was just when I was thinking about it. Never mind actually stripping naked and standing there in front of him to be scrutinized.

You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, I reminded myself as I packed up my things.

Sam was watching me, just like he had been all night. I could feel his eyes on me as plainly as if he were touching me.

Did I want him to touch me? Abso-fucking-lutely. Did I want him to bury his face between my legs and write his name with his tongue? Without a single doubt. Did I want him to nail me into the next century? Indubitably. I’d even let him Piledrive me—if we could figure out the mechanics of it and if I didn’t get a cramp.

I just had to get over the extraordinary vulnerability that would accompany it, that was all. Easy-peasy. No sweat.

Well, maybe a little sweat.

I took a breath and stood, my back as straight as I could get it without looking like I had a red-hot poker up my ass.

Sam was right there, waiting. His amber eyes were aflame, his lashes black as ink, soft as a raven feather.

Waiting for me.

He leaned against the wall with the easy grace of a panther, lithe and beautiful and utterly dangerous.

I slapped on a smile and commanded my feet to move me in his direction.

“You ready?” he said when I approached.

That innocuous question held a dozen more that were far less innocent.

Ready to show me your secrets? Ready to kiss the places no one sees? Ready to feel me inside you? Ready to fuck? Are you ready?

My brain simultaneously gasped no and screamed yes.

“Let’s go,” I said, hoping I sounded brave.

His answering smile sent a rush of heat through me that pooled at the point where my thighs met. It was then that I realized I was ready. Scared, sure. But I was ready.

Sam pulled me into his side, tucked me under his arm, kissed the top of my head. And as we headed out of the theater, I sighed, breathing the clean, spicy scent of him with the inhale and releasing the top layer of my fears with the exhale.

We headed toward the subway station.

“Want to grab anything to eat before we head home?” he asked as we passed another hot dog stand.

I shook my head, nestling into him. My arm wound comfortably around his narrow waist.

“What’s the matter? Not in the mood for another dog? We could get kabobs instead, if you’re hungry.”

“It’s not that. It’s more that I couldn’t choke down another hot dog knowing I was about to choke on your hot dog.”

A free, easy laugh burst out of him. It was becoming my favorite sound, that laugh.

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about eating your bun all night.”

It was my turn to laugh, amused even though my face was on fire. “The last person to call my ass buns was my Grams.”

“Who said I was talking about your ass?”

I chanced a look up at him, a little confused. He smirked down at me.

“Think about it. A hot dog bun isn’t shaped anything like an ass. It’s long, plump, and it has that slit in the middle, built for meat.” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “No, it’s not your ass I want, Val, although I’m planning on acquainting myself with that, too.”

My eyes, I realized, were locked on the thick swell of his bottom lip, distracted by the occasional view of his tongue in the darkness of his mouth.

“I’ve never known anyone who can make food sound so incredibly pornographic,” I said half to myself.

“Well, I’ve never known anyone who can make cheesy pick-up lines work.”