Page 59 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Raz moved forward and rested his hands on the vibrating washing machine, one beefy paw on either side of her, as he caged her in. “I still don’t understand what that means for us? You’re not suggesting we only eat onions for the next several weeks, are you?” he asked, his voice doing things to her that it absolutely should not do.
The breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him. The zing of anticipation invaded every cell in her body. The intensity coming off the man in near-tangible waves combined with the motion of the washer had her reeling. She willed herself to ignore his all-encompassing vitality, then formulated her reply. “Since you’re the cause of my condition, you could also be the cure.”
He sharpened his gaze. “How would that work?”
The energy flowing between them sent her chakras into a berserk kinetic overload—or perhaps it was the washing machine. Still, whatever gave her this idea, she knew she’d stumbled onto something big.
She ignored the desire to trace every carved muscle on this man’s chiseled body. “There are two issues to address,” she continued. “Balancing my chi is the first condition. But balance is a pretty broad concept, and it would be most advantageous to treat the second more acute ailment.”
“Which is?” Raz pressed.
Her heart was about to beat itself clean out of her chest.
Just say it.
“My inability to have an orgasm.”
Holy Buddha’s belly! She blurted it out like she was ordering a vegan burrito.
“You want me to get you off? You’re proposing we shag?” he asked, his eyes widening.
She winced, then looked away. “I’m sorry. It must sound outrageous. Not to mention, I don’t even know if you have a girlfriend.”
“I don’t,” he interrupted, urgency lacing his hasty reply. He gently cupped her face in his hands. “I don’t do relationships. Like it is for you, sex is just sex for me. No feelings. No love. No commitment. Only release.”
He was lying. She didn’t know how she knew, she just did.
“There’s no Miss Right out there for you?” she asked, attempting humor, but the intensity in Raz’s expression didn’t let up.
“No,” he bit back through gritted teeth.
He was lying again. She felt it in her very being—or was that her discombobulated chi throwing mixed signals again?
It didn’t matter.
She knew where she stood when it came to men, love, and sex. And as crazy as it sounded, the like curing like method might be her last hope to work this beefcake out of her system, welcome back her long-lost O, and balance her chi.
“Since we’re on the same page when it comes to how we approach sex,” she went on, treading carefully. “We could treat my condition with an academic approach and employ a curriculum with benchmarks. That’s how I teach my yoga classes. My background in physical education and kinesiology pull from science and clinical observation, while my yoga training harnesses the unseen piece, the current of energy that flows through us.”
“So, a little science and a little yoga mumbo jumbo?” Raz replied.
“Something like that. When I teach, I pick a skill, then work toward attaining it with my students. The skill in our case would be my O. We could measure progress by testing methods to attain an O together and then test if I can complete the goal by myself. After that, I’d move on to achieving completion with an outside partner. This experiment combines the best of qualitative and quantitative analysis, which I believe will support a productive outcome.”
There! That was a mouthful, but surely, her kinesiology professors back in college would have given her high marks for such a well-thought-out physiological goal. And the yogis who taught her along the way would have to agree that using like forces to overcome an energy blockage was a sound technique.
Raz frowned. “Can you say that in English, please?”
She focused on his gray, piercing eyes. “If I can get off with you, thecurriculumwould be considered a success if I were able to masturbate to completion. That’s the first benchmark. And then, the final test would be to see if I could climax with another partner. That’s the second benchmark.”
Well, that was weird. Had she ever actually said the word climax aloud?
“Climax with another partner?” the man growled.
Had she struck a nerve?
“Yes, then we’d know that the skill had been mastered and that it was able to be reproduced in different domains,” she answered, sticking with the science.
“Reproduced in different domains?” the man repeated, no, growled, again.
