Frisk Me(63)

The aftershocks seemed to go on forever, until finally, they slowed to a stop, her damp body draped over his, her head on his shoulder as arms crossed over her back, hands resting possessively on her shoulder blades.

Ava could have fallen asleep there, slumped over the firm, male body of Luc Moretti, but dimly she became aware that it was probably a lot less comfortable for him, having to hold them both upright, and she pulled off him, standing on shaky legs as her hands went to her hair, thinking to straighten it before she realized the futileness of the effort.

Luc stood and then, cocky bastard that he was, gave her a wink and a smack on the ass before heading out of the bedroom toward the bathroom.

Ava started to tell him where it was, but instead flopped onto the bed in a boneless mess. Her apartment was small. He’d find it.

A lady would probably find her panties and put them on.

No, a lady would find fresh panties, and would have some sort of classy silk robe, but the only robe Ava had was a neon pink terrycloth number from college, and even if she knew where it was, she didn’t have the energy.

Luc reappeared in the doorway, taking in her naked body with a smile. “I like that you don’t rush to cover up. You’re a confident woman, Sims. I like that.”

Ava grunted, her brain still at half-functionality. “You there, boy. A cigarette.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“No, but I feel as though an orgasm like that calls for it, does it not?”

He moved to the bed, picking up his boxers and putting them on before stretching out beside her.

She scowled. “If I don’t cover up, why do you get to?”

He kissed the spot where he’d bit her shoulder earlier, and she shivered at the memory. “Well, let’s just say you don’t have an unflattering flop immediately after.”

She rolled toward him. “How long until the flop goes away?”

He played with a strand of her hair. “Usually? Ten minutes. With you? Two.”

She smiled, flattered, even though she knew it was a line. “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly. “Do I?”

She bit her lip briefly before taking a chance. “That mean you’re staying?”

His lips tilted on one side. “You asking me to stay the night, Sims?”

She rolled her eyes. “Relax, it’s not exactly a wedding band.”

Luc watched his fingers play with her hair. “Right. Because you don’t do that.”

“And neither do you,” she said, running a hand over his abs.

Neither made eye contact just then. It was better that way.

Luc rolled onto his back with a self-satisfied sigh. “All right. I’ll stay. Under one condition.”

“You’re totally about to start negotiating with blow jobs, aren’t you?”

Luc barked out a startled laugh. “I wasn’t, but damn if you didn’t just put the thought into my mind.”

“What was your original condition?”

“Who cares? BJs trump all.”

“Offer revoked,” she said with a teasing smile as she pulled herself into a sitting position. “I have more pressing issues on my mind.”

“What the hell is more pressing than oral sex?”

She slapped his roaming hand away as she went to her dresser and pulled out a pair of yellow boy shorts with a blue and white bow on the front. “Food.”

He got a thoughtful expression, but she held up a finger to stop his dirty thoughts. “Real food.”

Luc sighed. “Admittedly that was going to be my original suggestion before you distracted me with sins of the flesh.”

“Sins of the flesh?” She picked up his shirt and chucked it at him. “Say that again, and you’ll be out on your ass with no food, and definitely no blow job.”

He laughed and pulled the shirt over his head before reaching for his shorts.

Ava retrieved her tank top and yoga pants, and once they were both clothed it was slightly easier to not think about sex.

Slightly.

“You like sushi?” she asked.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a euphemism for…you know?”

She rolled her eyes, retrieving her glasses and headed back toward her computer to finish the takeout order that had become derailed by the best sex of her life.

“I’m ordering without asking for your input,” she said as he followed her into the kitchen. “I don’t think I can handle any spicy tuna jokes right now.”

“I would never.”

She gestured toward the fridge as she doubled her previous order, then remembering that Luc had several inches and a six-pack on her, tripled it. “Wine.”

He poured them both a glass of the sauvignon blanc as she placed the order.

“Forty-five minutes,” she said on a groan, leaning back in her chair and patting her stomach forlornly as she took a healthy swallow of wine.

“What?” she asked, noticing that he’d paused mid-sip to watch her with a funny expression on his face.

“Nothing,” he said, recovering and taking a sip of the wine. “You’re just different than I thought you were.”

“Good different?” she asked, hating herself for asking, but needing to know.

His eyes were still warm, but they’d lost that mysterious look of before. “Depends.”