The British Affair by Suzanne Halliday

Author:Suzanne Halliday [Halliday, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 39935742
Published: 2018-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

He wanted her to start at the beginning? Was he insane? She was essentially naked, on his lap, her tits in his face, and what was he doing? Grinning like a lunatic and quizzing her about … oh god. She really was an idiot. This was what she got for having a motormouth and very few filters.

Crossing her arms to cover up only led to him taking her wrists and putting both of her hands on his chest. Emma surveyed her lipstick canvas and liked what she saw. He had a manly physique – a reminder that her lackluster experience involved a teenage boy and a selfish, sexually ignorant twentysomething. If she had a lick of sense, she’d recognize how out of her comfort zone she was and run to the safety of her room.

But she had no sense where this man was concerned. Not only that, but she was also completely and utterly enchanted by the easy humor and instant closeness they shared. Plainly, that explained why she was grinding on his lap.

“Bobby Bianchi. High school boyfriend. He was obsessed with Godfather movies and The Sopranos. I was a cheerleader, of course.” She smirked. “And he was the school’s home run king. Even then, I was acting. Playing a part. Head cheerleader and a sports star. That’s how these things go.”

“I’ve never thought about it from a different perspective, but I understand what you’re getting at. It was more about what was expected than what you were feeling.”

He understood, so she continued.

“What I might be getting at is that feelings never entered the picture. Not really. Bobby was a cardboard cutout. We went to prom, drank Wild Turkey, threw up, and had clumsy, painful sex in a cheap motel room on the interstate. That’s what we did back then. It was either a back seat or, like on prom night, the seniors paid cash for rooms.”

“My first time was just as tragic.” His chuckle and sexy smirk took the zing out of whatever tragedy he spoke of. “Katie Jane Stevenson. Blow job queen. She could suck the metal off a cannon. Not drunk but impaired nonetheless, we did it on the floor while she babysat my next-door neighbor. Two minutes tops.” He laughed. “Maybe more like ninety seconds. My fifteen-year-old heart was crushed when it was obvious she wasn’t a novice.”

They comically fist-bumped at their shared indignity and laughed.

Her snorting smirk came naturally. “The whole thing was tawdry and played right into my narrative about love and romance being bullshit. Made it way too easy to keep the college boys at arm’s length.”

She blushed but blurted out a truth that she sensed most women weren’t eager to admit. “That was the period when self-pleasure was a full-time class in every semester.” He looked surprised by her admission, so she made a disbelieving face, and said, “What? Guys can jerk it on the daily and get away with insisting it’s just biological, but girls have to keep their hands away from the no-no zone?”

“No.

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