My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(48)

I laugh, shaking my head. “You are so competitive.”

She nudges me with her elbow. “It’s not a competition. It’s the truth.”

“You’re a competitive monster, Hazel Valentine.”

“So are you, Alexander Hendrix-Blythe, Esquire.” She’d call me that when we were writing and hit a scene that needed legal background, like an annulment or a contract issue. It’s nice to hear the nickname again.

“Want me to draw up a contract outlining the terms and conditions of sharing a bed?” I ask.

She laughs and then turns to me, her eyes sleepy but amused. “Do you ever wish you practiced law?”

“Not one bit.” Using my law degree for character research rather than a career was one of the best decisions I ever made. “Dad wanted me to be a lawyer. I never did. Didn’t realize it, though, till I had that JD in hand. Then bam. One of those moments of enlightenment where the heavens open and you get a message.”

“From a higher power?” she asks curiously.

“Nah. More like from the gut, know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“I just knew I wasn’t going to practice. Super useful thing to realize after paying tuition for three years,” I say. But that’s what work is for—to pay off your past mistakes and prepare for future ones.

“So you joined the ranks of lawyers-turned-writers. It’s good company, at least,” she says, delivering the silver lining and a sympathetic smile. She knows I used our joint royalties to pay off my last loan. Good thing I went to a state school for that degree I never used.

“Now I can just use my JD to argue about important things.” I lean in, plant a hot kiss on her neck, then travel to her ear to whisper, “Like who’s a better bedmate?”

She scoffs. “I will win that contest.”

“You’re on. My bed skills will stun you.”

“So, you’re good in bed in all the ways,” she says with a wink.

And…maybe I puff out my chest. Maybe I beam a little. “I’d be happy to wake you up with my face between your thighs if you require more proof.”

“Generous,” she says on a yawn.

“Damn. Sex wore you out.”

She yawns one more time, bigger and deeper. “I’ve never been tired like this. I didn’t realize good sex would make me so tired.”

Wait. What did she just say? I prop my head into my hand. “You’ve never had good sex before?” That doesn’t add up.

She shifts too, turning to meet my eyes. The moonlight from the window spills across the bed, illuminating her bright green eyes and those kissable freckles on her nose.

“It’s been good enough.” She seems earnest but resigned to her lackluster bedroom life. “But not like that. Not book sex.”

I preen inside. I crow. But outside, I keep my cool since I have to go fishing for more intel. “So, all those hot scenes in your books? The go-down-on-her-on-the-desk scene in Sweet Spot? Not to mention the elevator, the stairwell, and the kitchen scenes in our first, second, and third books. Those were just…?”

“From my imagination?” she asks dryly.

“Well, were they?” Because I figured they were real.

She shoots me a challenging look. “Did you once sew up a wound on your shoulder with fishing wire? Chase a hacker into the Trevi Fountain? Hitch a ride on a zip line to apprehend the evil mastermind behind a sinister plot?”

Damn. She’d make a good lawyer. But she’s missing the point. The point is, tell me how happy my dick makes you.

“No, but the ones in—”

I cut myself off before I mention Lacey’s story, the unfinished Ten Park Avenue romance. Before I tell her that while we were writing that, I was sure she was modeling the hero after Max and it was killing me to hear about it. How I was positive, too, that she was about to write a soul-shattering sex scene inspired by that cheating prick.

“The ones in what?” she presses. Such a bloodhound.

“Just…all the ones you’ve written.” Even avoiding our book, I’m unable to strip the jealousy from my tone. “They’re good. Hot. And I figured you’d felt that.”

Her grin widens with anticipation. “Axel, are you jealous of the imaginary sex you think I’ve had?”

Ah, hell. I might as well just admit something. I’ll burst from all these annoying self-secrets. “Yes,” I grit out.

“Really?”

“Like I said, I’ve been getting you naked in my head a lot.”

There. Covered it up again. Yup. This guy can wriggle out of any plot twist.

“Let me assure you, sex has always been better in my imagination.” Taking an important beat, she locks eyes with me before she adds, “Until tonight.”

Ohhh.

Holy fuck.

I preen visibly this time. Rock star indeed.

Plus, I’m learning something fantastic. Max was bad in bed.

That should not make me so happy, but it does. Oh yes, it does.

“Good. You deserve lots of orgasms,” I tell her. “In fact, I bet I could give you two more before you’ve even eaten breakfast.”

Her eyebrows shoot high. “You’re on.” She sticks out a hand above the covers and shakes mine, then drops a kiss onto my lips. “Like a hero in a book would do,” she whispers. A yawn cuts off the last word, and she lies back on the pillow, her eyes fluttering.