Chapter 8
MAVERICK
I read the email. Well, the email itself was blank, but the attachment? Holy shit.
If the sender hadn’t been listed as Bridget Beckett, I wouldn’t have believed it came from her. Not after the other email she’d sent me with the updated cost breakdown and schedule which had been boring, mathematically accurate and thorough.
This? It was a fucking sex quiz.
Or a quiz on fucking.
After reading the answers–twice–it gave me a shit ton of insight into my latest obsession. And it made sense. And I’d never been so hard.
I read the first question.
On a scale of 1 to 10, how kinky you are?
I dropped into the office chair, then winced, because my dick pressed painfully against the zipper of my jeans. This wasn’t porn, nothing remotely like that. But it was an insight into someone’s mind, into their naughtiest thoughts.
And they were Bridget’s.
I’d seen interest in her eyes when she wasn’t blushing and looking away.
But this? Knowing the woman I wanted to get beneath me and scream my name had completed a sex quiz? I was in big fucking trouble.
Why would she send it to me?
She wouldn’t. There was no text in the main email, only the attachment.
She’d sent it to me by mistake. It was the only answer.
There was no way in hell she’d email me this.
Which made me a dirty old man reading the responses of a woman who had to be twenty-one or twenty-two.
I might have weighed over two hundred pounds, but I was only so strong.
It was ridiculous how a woman so small, so… perfect, could bring me to my knees.
So I read it with the eagerness of a twelve-year-old with his first Playboy.
No comment.
Bridget hadn’t given a rating for how kinky she was.
Maybe she didn’t know. That meant she needed to find out and I was going to be the one to show her.
Would she like toys, blindfolds? Fuck, would she like to be tied to the headboard and have her pussy licked?
What about exhibitionism? Hell, no. No one would see her body or what she looked like getting fucked besides me.
Shit. I was in trouble here and I was hard from a “no comment” response.
If you didn’t answer, is it because you are a virgin?
Bridget had typed NO. In all caps. Meaning she slept with every guy in Hunter Valley or that she had her caps lock stuck on?
While my own kink of popping her cherry was making me shift in my chair, there was nothing wrong with her having had sex before. She wasn’t that young.
How many partners have you had?
She typed in 1. One? Fuck, yes. One. Her no comment answer to the kink question made more sense. It wasn’t like someone figured out their naughtiest kinks with their first sexual partner, unless that partner was really skilled… and kinky.
Now I needed to go on a manhunt and kill Mr. 1.
What’s the one thing you wish you got from your partners?
Orgasms.
I groaned. Literally closed my eyes and groaned. Now I really wanted to track down Mr. 1 and beat the shit out of him for not being a gentleman. A lady always came first. Always.
Or I should thank him because the first time she came with a guy was going to be with me. On my fingers, my mouth, my dick. Any of them. ALL OF THEM.
I was suddenly very possessive of Bridget Beckett’s orgasms.
I stood, adjusted my dick, then paced. Fuck, it was hot in here.
Leaning down, I set a hand on the desk beside my laptop, read the next quiz question.
What do you want a guy to do to you in bed? This is anonymous so share your darkest fantasy.
Yes, Bridget… what was your darkest fantasy?
To get on my knees.
I pushed up to standing. Blinked. Leaned back down. Read it again.
To get on my knees? To what, suck a guy’s dick? To pray? To… I had no fucking idea, but the thought of her praying to my dick while it was touching the back of her throat had pre-cum dampening my boxers.
I had a problem. I wasn’t any better than Jason. Probably a hell of a lot worse. Jason just wanted to make women feel like shit by seeing them only as sexual objects.
I… I wanted Bridget. In a sexual way. On her knees, like her fantasy. Hell, it was turning into my darkest fantasy as well.
But only with Bridget. In private. Where I gave her all the orgasms she’d never received.
It was completely different.
Who do you want to do it with? Name your dream lay.
“Who the fuck is Jake Ryan?” I snapped, my voice echoing off the empty office walls. I ran a hand through my hair, stared at the name.
Was that her boyfriend? A guy she was dating? A man in town she had the hots for?
“Fuck!” I shouted. I was lusting after a woman whose dream lay was some fucker named Jake Ryan. “Jesus, I’m totally messed up.”
I closed the quiz, then slapped my laptop closed, went down the hall to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. Because a tiny little math nerd had brought me to my knees.