He met her eyes. “I am interested. But I’m also realistic. I don’t want a relationship.”
“I’m only here for another week. That’s not a relationship.”
“Then what is it?”
Becker looked uncertain. “I…uh, I’m not a fling kind of guy.”
Rolling her eyes, Jane pushed back her chair and stood up. She rounded the table and before he could object, lowered herself into Becker’s lap. He wore only a pair of boxers, and the second she straddled his powerful thighs, his c**k went stiff, poking against her thigh.
Jane raised her eyebrows. “I think every man is capable of being a fling man, Beck. And I think your c**k agrees with me.”
Becker’s dark eyes went even darker, burning with arousal. Although she’d put her dress back on before dinner, she wasn’t wearing any panties, and it would be so very easy to move aside the material of her dress and slide down onto his big, erect dick. But she fought the temptation. They didn’t have a condom handy, and besides, the second that distracting erection of his filled her pu**y, she knew she would lose the capacity for speech.
“My c**k isn’t very reliable,” Becker said, resting one hand on her thigh. “He likes you way too much.” Sweeping his tongue over his lower lip, he stroked her bare knee.
“And what about you?” she asked softly.
Becker leaned forward to nuzzle her neck. He pressed his lips to her skin, kissing his way down her throat. His voice was muffled as he said, “I like you too.”
A shiver of pleasure danced up her spine. “Then fling with me. I promise, I won’t make any demands. I already told you what I want.”
He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. “A week of sex. Is that what you want, Jane?”
The reluctance on his face was beginning to chip away. She could see his resolve crumbling. The lust creeping into his eyes and pushing all the hesitation away. Deciding he needed one final push, Jane reached down between them and curled her fingers over his cock. She squeezed gently then moved down to cup his heavy balls. He moaned.
“Come on, Thomas, you know you can’t say no,” she murmured, kneading his testicles. “You don’t want to say no. So just say yes.”
She continued playing with him, stroking, squeezing, until he released a strangled groan and said, “Yes.”
Four days later, Becker was still trying to figure out if agreeing to Jane’s proposition was the best decision of his life, or the worst. No question, however, about the fact that this was the best sex of his life. How he’d gone for thirty-two years without experiencing sex like this was a mystery. All Jane had to do was take off her clothes and he turned into an animal. He’d f**ked her every which way for the last four days. Indoors, outdoors, on every piece of furniture, on the floor, in the shower, from behind. And no matter how many times he came inside that tight, hot pu**y of hers, he never seemed to be sated.
But what bothered him more was how seamlessly she’d insinuated herself into his life. Well, insinuated was probably the wrong word. That implied she’d been the one to seek out a bigger role in his life, when it was him who’d told her to move her stuff in his cottage, him who’d convinced her to stay for breakfast every morning instead of heading back to her room to write. Since he was still on leave thanks to the bullet wound, he had absolutely nothing to do, other than look for a place to live, yet instead of meeting with the realtor, he’d been spending all his time with Jane.
For a man who didn’t want a relationship, his actions of the last few days troubled the hell out of him.
Those same actions evidently confused Jane, because as they pulled out of the hotel parking lot on Thursday afternoon, she turned to him and said, “I don’t get it. Are we dating?”
Her no-nonsense tone made him smile. He’d never met anyone like Jane Harrison. Sex-goddess looks aside, she was smart as hell, unfailingly honest, and way too perceptive for his peace of mind.
“We’re flinging, remember?” he said, heading toward the bridge that separated Coronado from San Diego, where they were heading.
“People who fling do not go to play mini-golf.” Jane shot him a sideways glance, looking flabbergasted. “Why are we going to play mini-golf?”
“You mentioned you liked to play, so I figured it was a nice way to spend the afternoon,” he pointed out.
“It is, but I still don’t get why you suggested it.” She shook her head, which caused strands of wavy red hair to fall into her eyes. She blew them away in frustration. “You told me you didn’t want a relationship. The stuff we’ve been doing, well…that’s relationship stuff, Becker. Dinner on the boardwalk, watching 24 reruns, mini-golf—that is not a fling.”
He sighed. “I know.”
“So what is this?”
Discomfort crept up his chest and settled into a lump in the back of his throat. That was precisely what he’d been asking himself for the last couple of days. Since when had this turned into more than just sex? It was Jane’s fault, for being so damn likable. He had never really connected with many people. In high school, even though he’d been on the football team and part of the in crowd, he hadn’t had many close friends. During SEAL training, where most of the men bonded, he’d kept to himself. Even now, he was part of a close-knit team with five other guys and he never saw them off the base.
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