...His fingers ran through my hair and skimmed over my shoulders as we pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the hotel. I leaned over, stretched my seatbelt as far as it would go, and nuzzled his throat before the fear of obscuring his vision and driving off the road outweighed the need to kiss him.

“Do women ever offer to give you a blow job?”

“No.” Sarcasm practically dripped from his perfect lips. I glanced down and considered smoothing my wrinkled skirt, but I wanted him to reach over and bunch it up. “Mostly it’s men.”

My head nearly snapped from my shoulders as I turned to face him. He laughed as though he’d waited hours to say that.

“You’re crazy.”

“Pretty much.”

“But you never answered my question.” I twirled a strand of hair between my fingers faster and faster. My heart thumped in my chest like the bass in my cousin’s low rider. There was a fine line between hoochie mama and seductress and I didn’t know where I stood.

We came to a stop at a red light and his hands slid to the bottom of the steering wheel. Dark eyes studied my face, put up a direct challenge. I accepted and held his gaze, wanting him to tell me I was the first—or at least say it had been a while.

“Has a man ever looked you in the eye and told you he wants to pull your thighs apart and lick, suck, and bite you until you can barely breathe?”

I swallowed, my hands clenched, voice hiding somewhere beneath my stomach. My breaths quickened and moisture pooled between my thighs. My face grew so hot I was surprised steam didn’t rise from my pores.

“Have you ever felt a man’s tongue inside you and gone hoarse from screaming his name all night long?”

He leaned in closer and looped a strand of my hair around his finger. The gentle tug sent a pulse of ecstasy down my spine and between my legs. Holy hell.

“Has your boyfriend ever told you he wants to drink every drop of you until beer seems worthless and he couldn’t remember the taste of food, only you on his tongue, in his veins…in his mind?”

He stared at me, willed me to answer, but I couldn’t think, let alone speak. No man had ever wanted me like that. I’d probably find a unicorn or be killed by a chupacabra before any man ever offered me such raw lust.

At last I broke the contact and stared at the vacant street, wondering if I’d ever recover from his words. I felt them inside of me now, phantom expectations of passion I doubted existed outside of crappy love songs and silly movies.

“Josie.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I considered telling him about Nick, but didn’t. Or did I? For a moment it felt as though I’d blacked out from sensory overload. All I could hear was his breath and the low buzz of the radio playing retro Madonna’s “Respect Yourself.” Figures.

Everything had happened way too fast. My wild days in college were risqué only because I’d tongued guys on the third date while my roommate met a man at nine and dropped trou in our apartment by eleven, sometimes while I sat on the couch studying.

But I wasn’t a college greenhorn and I hadn’t lived at home since I was twenty-one. I turned toward him, fully prepared to suggest he pull over, unfasten his seatbelt, and allow me to unzip his pants.

Bright lights flashed into the car thanks to the semi that had snuck up behind us. The bastard sounded his horn and I nearly pissed myself.