Page 5 of Savage in the Sheets
Weirdly, that the question has never crossed my mind. Not once.
Almost every other woman would give their right ovary for a night with Weston Singer. And no, I am not exaggerating.
Shaggy dark hair, piercing blue eyes, strong jaw, full lips, and a panty-dropping smile. And that’s only Weston’s appearance. His voice is deep and sensual, dripping with bedroom confidence—and his swagger—damn!
During college, he got laid plenty, but he was always more focused on his studies. Now, every couple of weeks, there’s a new girl, but she never lasts longer than a week before he gets bored with her and moves on.
I’m the one woman constant in his life, and that’s probably because I’ve never turned him on, and after last night’s conversation, I think I have a good idea why.
My parents drilled a competitive drive in me that triggers during one-on-one conversation. When we first met, I must have seemed aggressive, and therefore, never a desirable option.
But if that’s the case, what exactly is he offering?
A knock sounds on the door, and I go to greet Weston.
He’s brought with him two smoked-salmon bagels from The Bagelry, which are heavenly.
Sitting across the table from him, I can’t help but feel self-conscious. We talk a lot less than normal, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s avoiding eye contact. I guess he regrets the direction our conversation took. Or maybe he thinks making me a savage in the sheets is aiming too high, far exceeding my potential.
Attempting to act normal, I say, “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for telling me the truth last night. I know it must have made you uncomfortable. We don’t have to discuss it again.”
Weston comes back with, “You think that’s going to get you off the hook?”
I blink, gazing into his intense blue eyes. “Get me off the hook?”
“Don’t act like you don’t remember our conversation.”
“Obviously, I do remember—”
“Then, you should know that I’m going to do everything in my power to help you. I’m gonna turn you into a new kind of savage.”
“How thoughtful,” I reply, forcing myself to look away from his firm biceps that I always knew were there, but never really looked at before.
He takes my hand into his and forces me to look him in the eyes. Lord help me.
“Now, we’re going to take a look at Rosie’s programming.”
Inwardly, I cringe. Of all the things he could have brought up.
Part of me wants to be angry, but somehow, with a few careless words, he’s successfully put a smile on my face.
I arc a brow. “Look at Rosie’s programming…how?”
“We’re either going to have to reprogram you or figure out how to use it to your advantage. Some guys have a robot fetish, ya know. We just might have to look on Fetish-Forum-dot-com.”
I burst out into laughter, though I want to slap him. No one has ever made me laugh as hard as Weston, though it’s often at my expense.
“Let’s talk a little bit about your first dates,” he says. “How are your conversations?”
“I tell them about my work, where I went to school, my ambitions. Of course, I pepper in questions I have for them.”
“Let me guess, they’re all business-related.”
“I mean, it makes sense. I ask them where they went to school, their—”
“You don’t have to say anymore. I already know where this is going. The thing is, you impress them enough, so they go in for a second date, and even a third, because they’d be crazy not to. But you fail to ever‘hook’them.”
“Hook them?”
