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Chapter Seven
Daphne
What makes a man a good fuck?
My throat gets dry. My mouth goes sticky.
How can both things be true at once? It defies physiology.
I understand what's happening here. The butterflies in my stomach aren't a romantic image of attraction. They're a stress response. My body reacting to the threat of the unknown.
My body is ready to fight or flight or freeze or fawn.
And I feel every drop of cortisol. My best friend's brother just asked me what makes a man a good fuck. The best friend who I'm abandoning for the East Coast.
I know, I started it. I asked him for help. I need his help.
This is the problem with theory. Everything makes sense, in theory, until you're face-to-face with a pounding heart and shaking limbs.
No.
I'm cool. I'm calm. I'm collected.
Okay, I'm not the picture of serenity, but I am a grown woman. I am capable of talking about sex in ways besides the academic.
Say, my preferences.
"How are you going to use that information?" I ask. Okay, it's a dodge, yes, but it's a fair counter-point.
He raises a brow, noting the dodge but not calling me on it. "I have a sixth sense."
"A sex sense."
"Yes." His voice is utterly matter-of-fact. Jackson Steele has a sex sense. Period. The end.
"Then tell me what I like."
"It's more polite to ask," he says.
So he already knows? "But you can tell?"
His eyes pass over me slowly. He takes in every inch, from my messy hair to my pink wedge sandals, then back up. He studies the lines of my legs, the hem of my shorts, the curve of my hips, the edge of my crop top.
He stares like he's picturing the clothes on the floor. Or in his hands. Or something even more untoward.
Okay, that's me.
I want his hands on my skin. I want to stop talking. I want to sayhow about, instead, you show me a good fuck, huh?But that's beyond out of the question.
"It's not that specific." His gaze meets mine. "More a—what would Cassie call it? A vibe."
Vibe doesn't sound like either of them, but I know what he means. It's not a cut-and-dry list of preferences. It's a feeling. Like my feeling Jackson wants to wrap his tie around my wrists. "What's my vibe?" Is it obvious I'm eager to experiment? Maybe it's obvious I want that tie around my wrists.
"I shouldn't answer that." He doesn't addbecause I want to fill those desires too badly, but it hangs in the air anyway.
I should accept his attempt to step back, I know, but I don't. "You're a tease."
"Always, yes." He catches himself. Takes an actual half-step backward. "This isn't about me."
