Page 44 of Que Será, Syrah

“I’m what?”

“Someone who likes to edge. That’s when?—”

“Jesus, I know what edging is,” Clay says, rolling his eyes. “And let me guess; you’re not a fan?”

“I didn’t say that, exactly,” I reply, although…fine; he’s not altogether wrong. Orgasm denial has never been my go-to kink. Sure, it can be hot, every now and again. Tormenting each other over the course of endless hours, delaying satisfaction, channeling your frustration into the growing realization that’s all leading (eventually) to one, huge, mind-blowing, mega-orgasm that’ll leave you both wrung out and shattered.

But is that really so much better than using that same time to enjoy multiple orgasms? Jury’s still out, as far as I’m concerned; but overall, I’m thinking not.

“You didn’t have to say it,” Clay tells me. “It’s written all over your face. But that’s not what this is about.”

“No?” I eye him curiously. “Then what is it?”

“It’s just…” He pauses and sighs. “Look, I’m a realist, you know? And hope is a liar. So, I try real hard to stay grounded, to focus on the things I can see and touch, and count on. If someone had asked me a month ago, whether I thought I’d ever see you again, I’d have said no, probably not. Because what were the odds? If we hadn’t run into each other even once in five years? It seemed massively unlikely.”

“To be fair, we were on two different continents. That lowered the odds a little bit.”

“True, but I didn’t know that was the case. The point is, I’d be totes lying if I said I’d never thought about the possibility. That I never hoped, or wondered, or dreamed about our paths crossing once again. But I really wasn’t expecting it.”

I nod, aware of the sting of tears in my eyes, the shakiness of the smile that trembles on my lips. “Same.”

“Yeah, but like I said, even knowing how unlikely it was to ever happen, I still had a really clear idea in my head about how I wanted it to go, what I wanted to do if we were ever to hook up again.”

“And?”

“And now, tonight, this first time that I finally get to make love to you, I want to do things right. I want to be buried deep inside you when I come. And I want to feel you climaxing around me when it happens.”

“Not seeing a problem,” I say, my voice faint, breathless, my pussy clenching at the thought. “I’m totally on board with that scenario.”

Clay flashes me a grin. “Good to know. Except, right now…I’m so damn hot for you, I don’t think I’d even last five minutes. And I don’t imagine you’re ready to come again that quickly, are you?”

“Probably not,” I admit. “But why does it have to be all or nothing? Why can’t we?—”

“Nothing?” he repeats in mocking tones as he slides a hand between my legs, fingers brushing lightly over my sensitive clit. “Really? That’s all this was to you?”

“Stop it.” I push his hand away. “Not for me, I’m talking about you.”

“Oh, trust me,” he says, raising his hand to his mouth, licking between his fingers and sucking loudly. “It wasn’t ‘nothing’ for me, either. That’s something else I’ve been dreaming for years; how you’d taste, how it would fee to have you come on my tongue, what you’d sound like, how you’d look…”

“Oh.” His words are making me so hot I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering, to keep from begging him to do it again. I clear my throat and try again. “It um… It sorta sounds like I was the subject of a lot of fantasies?”

Clay laughs at that, a short, surprised bark. Then he rolls to his back and stares at the ceiling. “You have no idea. On the other hand, everything about you was a fantasy, anyway—from start to finish.” He eyes me somewhat ruefully. “I’m pretty sure that’s still the case.”

“You think?” I roll onto my side, splay a hand across his chest, loving the way his chest hair tickles my palm. “’Cause I’m pretty sure I’m as real as you are. Just a girl, standing in front of a boy…” I let me voice trail off, since the rest of the quote would put us in dangerous territory. “Etc, etc.”

“Oh, sure. Just a girl. Ordinary as fuck, right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Just a sexy, rich, untouchable girl, who lives in a castle on top of a hill, and who just so happened to be standing in front of the fancy sports car she bought on a whim. Totally normal. I run into women like that every day.”

“What hill?” I demand, ignoring the whim part—I put a lot of thought into that purchase. “Napa’s a valley, in case you forgot. The clue’s right there in the name.”

Clay shakes his head. “I was speaking metaphorically. But there are hills here, too, you know. Like the ones on the way to Lake Berryessa? I used to live out that way. But, I guess maybe you’ve never been there.”

“Of course, I have,” I protest. “What’re you thinking? You’re making me sound like some kind of snob.”

“You don’t think you’re a snob?” he asks, smiling gently—although not enough to completely remove the sting of his words. “I know the world you come from, remember? I’ve seen your family’s wineries. All those big, bougie houses, surrounded by acres of guap. That is where you lived, right? When you were a kid?”

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