Off Base(39)

“Oh,” she said dumbly.

“What about you? Gonna stay here and babysit me? Or call Beck to come get you?” He lifted his beer to his lips.

She didn’t want to bother Beck. She told him she could handle Cullen. He would be leaving for home in a couple days, anyway. She didn’t want him to worry that he was leaving behind a hot mess. He’d waited so long to return home. He loved the farm and was eager to get back to it. He was like their grandfather. The land was in his blood.

Cullen flipped to a rerun of the The Big Bang Theory. He patted the bed beside him. “Come on, sweetheart. You like this show.”

Somewhat mollified at his familiar cajoling tone, she nodded. “I’ll stay.”

He pointed to his dresser. “You can change into one of my shirts.”

“Thanks.”

She moved and opened a random drawer, hearing him call out too late. “Wait. Not that drawer.”

Her breath caught as her gaze fell on a pair of handcuffs. She looped a finger inside one of the steel circles and lifted it, turning as she asked, “Er, what are—”

He was standing right behind her now, staring steadily at her face, that naked chest of his radiating heat. “Those are mine. You know, for when I have friends over.”

“Friends,” she squeaked, “who like to be handcuffed?”

He rubbed a hand up and down the back of his scalp. “Well. Yeah. Among other things.”

Her stomach pitched and came alive with flutters as she imagined what those other things could be. Her chest suddenly felt like a hundred-pound boulder sat on it. Try as she might, she could not draw enough air. She looked at the handcuffs and back to him again.

He shrugged like it was no big deal.

She moistened her lips, her interest piqued. “What … other things … do you do?”

He laughed and the sound curled through her belly in ribbons of heat. “Come on. You don’t really want to know about this kind of thing.”

She swallowed. “I do. I want to know.”

His smile faded. He gazed at her for one long moment before shrugging again. “All right. Sometimes it gets a little rough.”

“Rough?”

He nodded, clarifying. “Sex.”

“Sex.” God, she was a parrot now. She squared her shoulders and tried to convey she was a mature woman who could handle a discussion about sex. Not just any sex. Sex the way Cullen did it.

“Yeah. You know, a little spanking. Handcuffs on the headboard. That kind of thing.”

Her eyes widened.

“Don’t look so scandalized. I don’t do whips or canes or anything. Nothing like that. I know it’s not your cup of tea, but plenty of women get off on—”

“How do you know it’s not my thing?” Her chin shot up.

He laughed and shook his head. “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you.”

“You don’t know everything about me.”

“Right. Rough sex is your thing.”

“Maybe.”

He snorted. “Your face is the color of a tomato right now.”

“S-so,” she sputtered, hating that he thought he had her so figured out. Even if maybe he did. “You don’t know what I would or wouldn’t do in bed. Do you?” God, just stop. Say nothing more. “I mean, maybe I like that kind of thing, too.” Great. Babbling and lying now.

Amusement danced in his dark eyes, but thankfully he didn’t laugh. She couldn’t have handled him laughing outright in her face.

“I guess I don’t know,” he allowed. “It’s just you aren’t exactly what I would call experienced—”

Her expression must have showed how much that statement felt like a jab. He quickly amended, “Hey, I just wouldn’t think you were into anything more adventurous than—”

“Missionary?” She shot back. “Well, you aren’t exactly versed in what I like when it comes to sex, are you?”

He gave her an unreadable look. “No. I guess I’m not.”

Plucking the cuffs from her hands, he stuck them back inside the drawer and opened another one, his movements brisk and efficient. Taking out a T-shirt, he handed it to her. “Here you go.”

She continued staring at him, those flutters still dancing in her stomach. “Thanks.”

Turning, she shut herself inside the bathroom and changed into a soft cotton T-shirt that smelled like him. Even though the hem fell mid-thigh, she kept her skirt on since it fell a little lower. Stepping out of the bathroom, she found him back in bed again.

She settled down beside him, on top of the covers, telling herself this was no different than any other night they watched TV together on her couch. Even if she kept hearing Cullen’s deep voice in her head. Sometimes it gets a little rough.

Her sex ached and clenched, and she pressed her thighs together. His admission had done more than pique her curiosity. She couldn’t shut off the idea of Cullen … and her … and rough sex.

So what if they were in his bed and she was aroused and she had shaved her legs? He wasn’t going to make a move, and she sure as hell wouldn’t. Even if she wanted to, it would take more courage than she possessed to make the first move. That kind of forwardness wasn’t in her DNA.

She held herself rigidly beside him through two episodes. The tension didn’t ebb from her body. Her skin felt itchy and tight. Even if she hadn’t already seen these shows, she wouldn’t have been able to focus on the actors. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the rise and fall of his hard chest, the slope of his ridged stomach. The glint of his dog tags above his sternum.