I put the phone down and looked at her. She was throwing lines at me like usual, but why did I get the feeling something was wrong? “I didn’t know you were supposed to teach me. I thought you were supposed to dress me.”
“Yes, well.” Her gaze dropped down to the jeans I’d picked off the floor this morning, my navy blue tee. “I’m not doing a very good job. We seem to have backslid.”
I didn’t like hearing that: I’m not doing a very good job. That didn’t sound like Ava. “You mean I have to wear the new clothes all the time?” I asked, trying to nudge her a little. “Even at home?”
“Yes.”
“Even in bed?”
She should have shot a comeback at me, preferably an insulting one, but instead her brow furrowed between her beautiful brown eyes. “I didn’t buy you any pajamas, so I guess not.”
Pajamas? Was she kidding? My voice came out as a growl. “Save your money, because there’s no way I’m wearing fucking pajamas. I sleep naked.”
That surprised her, and her gaze rose to mine. “You never slept naked before. You always wore T-shirts and boxer shorts.”
“Because I was living with roommates. We were friends, but we kept our junk covered. A pretty simple rule. Plus, you were around a lot, so the junk rule was always in force.”
Now a slow, rosy blush crept up her cheeks, and she looked uncomfortable and turned on. I didn’t know who this woman was, but she definitely wasn’t Ava. “Oh, right,” she said.
Hell, no. I’d screwed this up somehow, and I had to fix it. “Was it the sex?” I asked her.
Ava’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“The thing I fucked up. That’s making you act weird. Was it the sex? Did I do something you didn’t want?” The words were like daggers in my throat, but I made myself say them. “Because I thought… I thought you liked it.”
Her breath came out in a rush, her shoulders dropping. The blush climbed higher and redder on her cheeks. “It wasn’t the sex, Dane,” she said, sounding choked herself. “I, um, liked the sex.”
Relief washed over me. I’d been so sure I could read Ava’s signals, understand what she wanted, even after all this time. To think I’d misread something so fucking important made me want to rip my own guts out. I wanted to tell her that, say something meaningful, but what came out was, “I’m glad you liked it. That was the idea.”
It sounded seductive instead of like an explanation, and Ava blushed harder. That was interesting, and the horndog parts of me woke all the way up. I’d loved doing that to Ava at the restaurant last night—loved the way she’d reacted, the sounds she’d made. I’d loved the way she felt against me, that I’d been able to tell when she was close. Some things were seared into your brain every day of your fucking life, and for me it was the way Ava Winters felt when I made her climb higher and higher, all the way.
I stood up and walked over to her chair, bracing my hands on the arms of her chair, boxing her in. It was the same pose I’d used at the tailor’s appointment, because from this position I could see every line of her expression, every flicker in her eyes. She couldn’t lie or escape me. I could see how her chest rose and fell, whether she was breathing fast. And, yeah, I had an excellent view of how the folds of her shirt clung to her breasts. It had been a long time since I’d seen Ava’s breasts, and I really liked looking at them.
Sometimes, it’s just that simple.
“Something’s wrong,” I said. “If it isn’t the sex, then tell me what it is.”
“We shouldn’t do it again,” Ava said on a breath. “I mean, I appreciate the orgasm, thank you, but it’s a terrible idea, right? Just really, really bad.”
I ignored her suggestion, because if I got what I wanted then we’d definitely be doing it again. “You’re welcome,” I said. “Was it better than an orgasm from a bartender or a would-be DJ? Be honest.”
Ava cleared her throat. “No comment.”
“Sure, you have a comment, Ava. You always do. Might as well say it.”
She closed her eyes for a second, her dark lashes brushing her cheeks. She wasn’t wearing as much mascara today, and no eyeshadow at all. “Better, yes,” she said, her voice calmer now. “Definitely faster. Sometimes, for me, it… takes a while.”
“To come?” I said, surprised. “No, it doesn’t.” At least, not the Ava I knew.
“Yes, it does.” She shrugged, the motion a litt
le hard. I didn’t like it. “I’m not nineteen anymore, Dane. I’m thirty.”
She emphasized the word thirty with a beat of unhappiness. “I’m aware,” I said. “I’m older than you are, and I still come in the same amount of time as I did back then.”
She was silent for a second, as if speechless, and then she said, “Well, that’s fine, but you’re a man. My body is more complicated.”
“Excellent. Consider me a student.”