Brazilian Surrender by Carmen Falcone

Author:Carmen Falcone [Falcone, Carmen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Suspense, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781640634343
Google: CIY_DwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B01BKMMG6C
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2017-12-05T18:30:00+00:00

“So why don’t you like to be touched?” Camila asked, a good ten minutes after he untied her. “You never gave me a good reason.”

Jaeger scratched his head and sat on the bed. He never kept the same lover long enough for them to analyze him. If they questioned his preferences, he bolted. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t run this time. But that didn’t mean he enjoyed amateur therapy sessions. “You didn’t enjoy it?”

She looked up to him, still propping herself on her elbows. She pushed up the sheets to cover herself, and he appreciated her modesty. You didn’t find much of it in this world anymore, particularly after what they’d just done. “Three orgasms say I did. But is that your usual routine?”

He nodded. If she thought him a perv and didn’t want to screw anymore, it would be a blessing in disguise and a clean end to what was clearly a mistake on his part. How much longer would they pull off an affair anyway? “Touching during sex brings out emotions, feelings that can mess up my common sense. ”

She rolled on the bed with a sigh, and the sheet followed, but got stuck and her beautiful, smooth back was bared for his enjoyment. “That’s probably the least sexy thing I’ve heard after sex. My vagina just dried up.”

He bit back a smile. He’d never said he was perfect, had he? “I’m sure I can find a way to change that quickly.” He stroked her arm, his finger lazily sliding down her flesh. He noticed a path of goose bumps raising on her skin and couldn’t help to feel proud of himself for making her that way.

She shook her head and jerked her arm away, scooting on the bed so they still faced each other, but he’d have to reach a little bit farther to touch her. Smart move. “Hands off, IMP.”

“IMP?”

“International Man of Pleasure. Suits you.” She winked. “Anyway, I want to improve your pillow talk.”

“Trying to teach an old dog new tricks?”

She chuckled, the features of her face softening again. “Don’t talk like you’re a character from Downton Abbey. You’re just ten years older than me.” She wrapped herself with the sheet as if to ensure he wouldn’t try anything. Oh crap. He’d taken a beating or two during his NYPD days, and something told him they were easier to deal with than the survey the gorgeous Brazilian was about to run.

“I’ve seen a lot in those ten years.”

“Good. Maybe you can use your experience to figure out why your personal communication skills are lacking, and don’t say it’s because you excel at a different kind of communication,” she said, making clear he couldn’t condescend his way out of this chat.

“I was an only child; my parents were much older. I was always the quiet kid,” he said, remembering with a tad of nostalgia the lovely Sundays his doting mother would cook them lasagna. Her pasta was wonderful, but because Aunt Gesa always chatted with her while she baked her homemade garlic bread, it always burned a bit on the edges.

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