Her frown deepened. “What do you mean, what they meanto me? They have specific definitions.”
“Most things do. But what are those definitions? As you understand them.”
“I can be attracted to anyone, and am,” she threw at him. “I like all kinds of actors and actresses. But I only really enjoy sex with people I have feelings for.”
“You cannot possibly have feelings for me. You met me moments ago, while trespassing in my private area. What do we do if these definitions fail us?”
“I guess you could consider me het-curious.” She inclined her head like royalty, which made him want to do all manner of filthy, glorious things to her. She was that lovely. “That means I’m curious about the behavior of heterosexuals. Though I should assume that’s what you are?”
“Among other things,” he agreed, perilously close to laughing again.
“Well. Okay then.”
Conrad thrust his hands in his pockets and kept his gaze on her. “Everyone has a sexual identity, Rory. I like power differentials, personally.”
“Both ways?”
He smiled. “No. I like power games, I insist on obedience, and when I fuck, I’m always in charge.”
She...fluttered. There was no other word for it.
“And before you tell me how little that interests you, you should know that I can see how aroused you are,” he said quietly. “Arousal is not action, I grant you, but let’s try to be honest about it.”
“You can’t see that. You can’tseeany of that.”
“I can. For example, the look on your face right now tells me that for all the many attractions you claim you’ve had to all and sundry—all on screens, I assume, given you mentioned their job descriptions—you haven’t had a lot in the way of decent lovers. Is that wrong?”
Rory blew out a breath. “What do you mean by a decent lover?”
“One that made you come,” he said dryly. “A lot.”
“I’m really more focused on intimacy.”
“So the answer is no, then.” Conrad shook his head. “How can you decide what your sexual identity is if you’ve never had good sex?”
“I’ve had great sex,” she retorted.
“Great sex without coming?” He lifted a shoulder, then dropped it. “What is that?”
“Just because you’re psychotically goal oriented doesn’t mean everyone is.”
“Rory. Sex is about orgasms, or you could simply have an intimate cup of coffee with a friend. When a man has sex, he can expect that he will always have an orgasm. Why as a woman should you expect any less?”
“I—” But she stopped. She stared at him, and he could see the way she had to catch herself, as if her knees weren’t quite working. Once again, he was struck by how beautiful she was, this absurd argument and all. “It’s the closeness that really matters.”
Conrad sighed. “Do you know who says things like that? People who don’t know any better. Or men who don’t care to do their jobs.”
“I have a million orgasms,” she assured him. “All the time.”
“Rory. I can make you come in minutes. Right here. That’s the very least you should expect from a person you take into your body. It pains me to imagine that you have careened through life allowing your lovers to treat you so shabbily.”
“My lovers, of which there are many,” she said, in a tone of voice that suddenly made him wonder if she’d had any lovers at all, “know, as I do, that there’s a lot more to sex than just coming.”
“Of course there is.” He found himself smiling again. “Or everyone would simply masturbate and call it a day. I hope you do, by the way. Since you don’t achieve satisfaction anywhere else.”
“I’m a sexually liberated, infinitely satisfied woman. I am fully in charge of my own orgasm—”
“That’s a yes, you do. I think. I’m pleased to hear it.”