Loving Ms. Wrong (5 page)

I glance at Katrina to see if she’s shocked
or bored…something—I’d like to see a reaction of any kind. She
lifts one shoulder and lets it drop, unwilling to meet my eyes. I’d
like to keep her talking if I can. What drove her to have sex with
strangers? Could she have been a call girl or something? What would
drive a woman to make such a choice?

Despite my earlier claims of wanting nothing
deep, she’s got my attention. I hadn’t realized what an attractive
challenge a distant woman would make. Contrary to my past exploits,
this one I’d like to get to know better.

“It’s also called cow position, or
the congress of a cow
, in the Kama Sutra,”
she says in a low tone. “There’s a few variations with legs open or
closed while kneeling, supporting yourself on hands or elbows… that
kind of thing.”

I hadn’t expected her to know historical
names, or to chime in with fun facts. Good sign. “Really? I hadn’t
known.”

Her head whips to the side to stare at me,
an incredulous look on her face.

“Back up there, honey. I have had sex in
that position.” I smile to diffuse the tension. “I meant the name.
I’m well aware of the different ways to…er, uh… change it up.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, this is going well. I’ll try again.
Smooth operator. Yeah, that’s me. “So… you… um… didn’t care for
being taken from behind?”

“Not really.” She averts her gaze again.
“Maybe it was me.”

“Maybe it was the guy.”

“Whatever.”

She fidgets on the couch, obviously
uncomfortable, but still talking to me about it.

“If it’s done right I think both parties
can… enjoy it.” I adjust my growing woody. This is turning into an
interesting conversation.

Katrina squirms and lowers her feet back to
the floor. “Hey, is it getting hot in here? The AC is off. I bet it
was bound to happen.”

I hide a grin and help her out. “Could be
the hot drink, too.”

I roll the dice again, eager to see what she
says about the next position. This is more fun than I thought it
would be. I examine the side facing up. “Sixty-nine. Always a crowd
pleaser.”

“Hmph… leave it to a guy to say that.” She
pulls her toned legs up to sit Indian style on the futon and glares
at me once before looking away.

“What? I
am
a guy.”
I pick up my cocoa and relax back on the couch. “What’s wrong with
good ole
soixante neuf?
”

“The French name sounds so much nicer.
Nothing’s wrong with it, per se. It’s just hard for a woman to
really enjoy it with the guy shoved down her throat.”

I’ve known women who prefer the position to
straight oral, but I wisely refrain from saying anything. She does
have a point. Could be why when I’ve been in a situation where
we’re both mutually enjoying the position, and the woman has her
peak, she’s not trying to deep throat me. I cringe at the thought
of the teeth-scraping-skin injury that could induce—you know, with
all the spasms during a good orgasm. Yikes.

“You’re turn to roll,” I say.

“What? Me?” She sits up quickly, spine
straight and a frantic look on her face. “How is it my turn? You
just started rolling the dice on your own. I didn’t agree to play a
game with you.” Her anxiety level has shot through the roof. Maybe
this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Relax, Katrina.” I reach out to touch her
knee. “I was just trying to have some fun.” I remove my hand and
motion to the room with the mug in my other hand. “There’s no
power—which means no movies, no TV, no Internet, no music, and no
way for you to tune me out. It’s all in fun. No pressure.”

We sit quietly for a moment, each lost in
our own thoughts. When she clears her throat, I can tell she’s
calmed down. “You really think I’m tuning you out?”

I set my empty mug down, no longer as cold
as I was before we started taking about the positions on the die.
“Why does it matter what I think? You’re a self contained woman
living on her own…doing exactly what she wants… shouldn’t matter
what I think.”

She slumps in her corner of the futon and
mumbles, “Shouldn’t. But it does.”

I caught what she said. She had to have
wanted me to hear it, right?

“Why does what I think matter, Katrina? We
just met. After the storm lets up you could choose to never see me
again.”

“Because… once upon a time… when life was
simpler… you were everything I’d ever hoped for in a man.”

It’s my turn to sit up in surprise. “Me? You
don’t even know me.”

She hugs her arms around her middle like
she’s cold, when a little bit ago she claimed of being hot. “I know
enough about you… and it’s more about what you represent.”

I raise an eyebrow in speculation, which she
doesn’t see because she’s staring into the candle flame. “And what
is that?”

“Steady career, and the solid sense of self
a secure job brings. You’re a handsome, put-together guy.
Confidence to talk to anyone—and a goodness in you that didn’t
allow you to walk away when I needed help.”

Her words trigger something in me. I’m not
sure what but it has my pulse pounding, my heart racing to leap out
of my chest. “You make me sound like a boy scout.” I sit up in
frustration, a scowl twisting my mouth. “And trust me. I’m
not.”

“Oh, really?” she says with a challenge in
her tone. “And what’s so bad about being called a boy scout?”

“Would a boy scout do this?” I lean over the
space between us and plant my mouth on hers.

Katrina

Marcus’s warm lips mold to mine, smelling faintly of
chocolate. He’s staring straight into my eyes, the candlelight
flickering across his face. Tingles of sensation cascade away from
where our mouths meet, the gentle pressure increasing slightly with
every second.

My gut reaction is to push him away, after
all, what’s the point when I’ll just disappoint him later? But I
hold off, resisting the urge.

His supple, soft lips draw sensations from
me I haven’t felt in years. My eyes drift close, allowing me to
lose myself in the moment. This is what it was like years ago…
before. I hear a low moan in the dim room and it takes me a moment
to realize the sound is coming from me.

Apparently, the noise was all the
encouragement Marcus needed. His tongue ventures out, tracing the
slight opening in my lips, as if he’s asking permission to
enter.

I feel warm all over, with my heart beating
faster with each breath. What do I want? I don’t know this man
well. Nothing good could possibly come of allowing this to go
further.

Ignoring the pull of my body, I draw away,
gasping for air.

“Would a boy scout do that?” he says with a
whisper.

I open my eyes, Marcus’s intense gaze still
focused on me.

“Uh… what?”

He reaches a hand toward my face and I pull
back, drawing deeper into my corner of the couch. He lowers his arm
and smiles, seeming content for now with sitting closer to me than
he was before. I’m not feeling threatened by his closeness—oddly
enough, I’m excited by it.

Oddly? That’s how you’re supposed to react,
idiot.

Yeah, in a perfect world, sure. But my world
hasn’t been perfect for a very long time.

“You accused me of being a boy scout. Would
I have done that if I was?”

His reaction to whatever I said that upset
him before is kind of amusing, but I doubt he’d appreciate it if I
said so. A grin stretches across my face despite my best
intentions. “How else would there eventually be little boy scouts
in the world if they didn’t kiss girls?”

He laughs, long and loud, tipping his head
back on the futon. “Touché. Good one.” He turns his smiling face
toward me. “You have a sense of humor when you want to.”

“Haven’t had a lot to laugh about
recently.”

“Oh.” He looks lost for what to say. “You
mean having to move in here?”

I stand and move a few feet from the couch,
eager to stretch out my muscles and lose some of the tension
knotting me up inside. “The move was the last in a string of shitty
breaks.”

Marcus sits up and watches me. “What are you
doing?”

“I plan on stretching, do you mind? I think
I may have pulled something when I fell in the store.”

His gaze roams over me, igniting sparks deep
in my middle. “Not at all.” He smiles, a wolfish grin if there ever
was one. “Please proceed.” Heat seeps into my limbs—brought on, I’m
sure, by knowing he’s watching me. “If you’re really in pain I
could rub your back for you.”

“Thanks.” I smile, facing away from him.
“I’ll keep the offer in mind.”

I raise my arms over my head and feel the
twinge in my back from earlier. Dammit, I should have done this
right away instead of allowing my unease in his presence to make me
immobile.

Lowering my hands to the floor, I stretch
slowly and gently, easing away the tightness with each breath. Once
my palms lay flat on the floor, I slide them to wrap around my
ankles and bend deeper into the move.

“You’re really in great shape. How many days
a week do you work out?”

“Uh… Every day?” I turn my head to where
he’s seated. “I can’t sleep if I don’t meditate.”

“What does meditating have to do with
working out?”

I return my palms to the floor then jump my
legs back to position myself for downward facing dog.

“Hey now. Look at you, sexy yoga lady. That
pose certainly conjures some nice ideas.”

I hear the smile in his voice, so I ignore
the comment and answer his previous question. “Yoga was originally
developed to strengthen the body for long hours of meditation.”

“Really? The things you learn from a hot
girl with her ass in the air…”

I laugh, sinking deeper into the stretch.
“You think I’m hot? Thanks.”

“Oh come on… you ladies always pretend you
have no idea when you’re attractive. But seriously, you do own a
mirror, right?”

A quick glance under my arm reveals he’s
still sitting casually on the futon, my robe opening up slightly to
expose his well-muscled chest. “Couldn’t the same be said for guys?
Some of you seem to relish in pretending you’re not
attractive.”

“That’s not me.” He stretches out his long
legs and crosses his arms behind his head, the perfect epitome of
confidence and arrogance. “I know I’m good-looking.”

I snort. “And so modest, too.”

“Am I supposed to play dumb and pretend to
think I’m ugly? Life is too short for that kind of BS. You might
not be able to tell while wearing this fluffy concoction, but I
like to dress nice. That’s not a crime, is it?” He shifts his arms
to cross over his stomach, lending a defensive air to his lounging.
“Are you going to tease me and call me a metrosexual now, too?” His
tone turned snarky at the end. I’m guessing this is a sore spot for
him. I wonder why.

I lower from the pose and jump my feet
forward, already feeling better from the stretch. Raising my arms
to the ceiling, and my left foot to my inner thigh in tree pose, I
say, “Why would you think I’d say such a thing to you?” I lower my
hands to rest palm to palm in front of my chest. “Who am I to judge
you?”

His breath whooshes out in a loud puff of
air. “You surprise me when I least expect it.”

I let him relax on his own for a moment,
enjoying the calm the pose is bringing me. After a minute or so I
return to my place on the futon, my back already feeling
better.

“Who said those things to you?”

Marcus watches me intently. “You mean the
metrosexual comment?” He shrugs. “Tony says that kind of shit to me
all the time.”

“And he’s supposed to be your best
friend?”

“It’s hard to explain. Guys can be real
shits to each other when they want. Sometimes I think he says it to
put me in my place.”

“Put you in your place? What the hell is
that? And you think women can’t be cruel, too? That’s a laugh. Most
of them just learn to hide the barbs better than men do.”

Marcus drapes an arm across the back of the
couch, opening his body to me and drawing me closer mentally
without ever touching me. “Why do you think people do stuff like
that?”

I stare at his exposed thigh, wishing with
all my might I could reach out and touch the soft hair… what I
wouldn’t give to trail a fingernail over his warm flesh. The
candlelight plays on his skin, accenting the ridges of muscle I
long to explore. “My best guess is people are unhappy and
unconsciously lashing out at those around them… unawares of the
damage their casual words cause.”

“That’s a kinder assessment than most people
would offer. News flash, Katrina: some people are just
assholes.”

His fingers brush the short hair dangling
down my neck. Lightly and without pressure of wanting more. The
sensation triggers awareness inside me and I can’t decide if I want
to risk trying something with him, or letting it go so we both
don’t wind up disappointed in the end.

“You don’t think that’s the case with Tony,
do you? I can honestly say I don’t hear crap like that from Carla,
Heather, or Gemma.”

“Maybe it’s because we’ve known each other
for so long. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been jealous of him in the
past.”

“Why did you say it was him putting you in
your place?”

His hand withdraws from touching my hair and
I instantly regret the words.

“Maybe because he’s right.” His body
language says he’s had enough of the topic.

This conversation is more than I’ve shared
with any one in years. Do I push him to share more, or accept that
he’s said all he will for now?

Don’t know unless you try….

“And why would he be right?”

Marcus remains quiet and I rip my gaze from
his legs to seek out his eyes. His expression holds the remnants of
an old pain, a look I’ve seen in my mirror many, many times.