Hold Me (Fool's Gold #16)(53)

“DNA?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She smiled. “That breast thing really works.”

“You liked it?”

“Very much. Who knew?”

“What about the rest of it? What else do you like? How would you like me to please you, Destiny? My mouth, my hands, like this?”

As he spoke, he pushed in gently. Just a little. The tip.

She was hot and wet and tight. Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted. He read the signs as pleasure and pushed in more. A little deeper, a little farther.

Which turned out to be a mistake because he hadn’t been with a woman in months and months. That fact became very clear when he felt the familiar pressure building at the base of his cock. Panic flared as his brain searched for a solution to a very imminent problem.

It had been all of two seconds. Seriously? What the hell was he supposed to do now? Pull out and come all over her leg like some teenager? Or simply push in all the way and come like some teenager? Either way he was going to be humiliated.

He swore. “I swear, it’s not usually like this,” he told her. “I’ll take care of you in a second, okay? It’s just—”

His hips gave an involuntary flex. He pushed in.

Three things happened at once. Destiny put her hands on his shoulders and said, “Kipling, I’m—”

He felt something between him and the deep, wet place he most wanted to go. Instinctively, he pushed harder, and the barrier gave way. And he climaxed.

He pulled out as fast as he could, but it was too late. Foreboding grew as he looked down and saw blood on his penis. Pieces of a very surrealistic puzzle fell into place. He shook off the obvious solution and searched for another explanation.

There was no way. It wasn’t possible. She was in her late twenties. She was beautiful. She was—

“You’re a virgin?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“WAS,” DESTINY SAID automatically, telling herself that in some strange, twisted way, the circumstances were completely fitting. Why wouldn’t she lose her virginity in a bar? She was her parents’ daughter, after all. Destiny couldn’t escape her destiny.

She giggled at the ridiculousness of it and thought maybe she was a little drunker than she’d realized.

Kipling scrambled to his feet and stared at her. “You’re a virgin?” he repeated. “No. You can’t be. ”

She sat up and tried to figure out how she felt. A little sore and, to be honest, disappointed. After all this time, all her plans and hopes to not be like her parents, she’d done it. She’d had sex with a guy in a bar. And while the kissing had been fun, and she’d really liked how she’d felt when he touched her breasts, in the end it hadn’t been all that interesting.

Sex, like many forbidden things in life, was all hype. Her parents had broken up marriages, abandoned their children and tried very hard to destroy themselves over that? Three seconds of pressure with a bit of pain thrown in? She’d rather go eat a brownie.

What about the earth moving and all that crap people sang about? The intense, life-changing moment? Talk about anticlimactic.

“Destiny.”

Kipling’s voice was sharp. Maybe a little panicked.

“I’m fine.”

“You were a virgin?”

She nodded and stood. The room only swam a little, which was probably a good thing. She was going to have to—

She glanced down at herself and realized she was naked. Totally and completely naked. In a bar. What had she been thinking?

“My clothes,” she said.

Kipling handed her her underwear still rolled up in her jeans. She pulled them apart and slipped on her panties. While she stepped into her jeans, he collected her T-shirt and bra then started getting dressed himself.

“We have to talk about this,” he told her.

“No, we don’t. I’m fine. I’m an adult. I did it. We did it.” All that waiting, she thought. “I’d wondered, and now I know.”

He slipped on his shirt. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is. Don’t worry. I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re not. You can’t be.”

She slipped on her boots and made sure she still had her keys, cell phone and credit card. Her credit card.

“I never paid for my drinks.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t have to pay for them.”

He grabbed her by her upper arms. “We have to talk about what happened.”

She felt the first throbbing promise of a headache. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I’m not feeling well.”

Kipling hesitated, as if he were going to push back, then he nodded once. “Tomorrow. For sure.”

She wasn’t sure if he was promising or threatening, and right now she didn’t care.

He led the way to the front door, then locked it behind them. The walk to her house was accomplished in silence.

When they stood on her porch, she did her best to smile and sound perky. “I’m completely okay. I’m as much responsible for what happened as you are. I have no recriminations. You need to let it go.”

His expression was unreadable. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I’ll count the hours.”