Chapter 4
Cassie
Super awesome wild-ass (holy shit they’re gonna kill me) sex stuff to figure out before D-day…
By Cassondra R. Michaels
Sex position called the Post Hole Digger (sounds like something to only do once)
Hair pulling while bent over kitchen counter and spanking with a spatula or pancake turner or ???
Pokey wheelie thing
Crazyhawt sex with a dark-haired, anonymous stranger with great abs
Outdoor sex in the snow (WTF?!? Frostbite, not sexy!)
Sex in public. In a car, in a bar, on a boat… DEFINITELY not with a goat (thank God!)
Pop Lisa’s workout ball while having sex on it
I kissed a girl, and apparently really liked it (Umm…I don’t even like @#$% Cherry ChapStick)
Roleplay (cop and jewel thief? Sexy tycoon and naive college student? Buy schoolgirl costume in case they ask)
Naughty spa day at super-snooty place for rich assholes. Mud bath, massage, and wild times in the ladies’ changing room.
I’ll be honest. If I’d known I’d find myself sitting naked in bed with a stupid-hot naked guy determined to fulfill all my sexual fantasies, I might have put a little more thought into my list.
Not that I’d necessarily add or delete anything. It’s just a little—
“Pokey wheelie thing?” Simon looks at me, one eyebrow raised. He’s still naked, but he’s wearing his glasses again and has my green paisley quilt covering his junk.
Pity, that.
I scoot a little closer to him and peer at the screen of my laptop, pretty sure this is the first time it’s been on any lap besides mine. A naked lap at that.
“After three glasses of wine, I forgot what it was called,” I tell him. “Doctors use them for neurological testing to gauge nerve reactions. It’s like a tiny, sharp stainless steel pinwheel on the end of a stick that’s about—”
“A Wartenberg wheel?”
“Yes! That’s it.” I’m pretty sure a guy who looks like Simon knows about it because he has a whole room full of sex toys cataloged in alphabetical order.
Then again, I may be reading him wrong. Yes, he’s confident, but he’s more cerebral than I pegged him at first. It’s not just the glasses, either. There’s the tiniest hint of awkwardness there, like he spent his teen years playing video games instead of making out in the backseat of a Mustang.
The way he’s looking at me now makes me wish I’d put the Mustang thing on the list. Maybe it’s not too late to add it.
“So, you dreamed up all these things over the years,” he says, “but you’re telling me you never did any of them?”
“That is correct,” I reply, a little annoyed by my own awkward formality.
He nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But deep down, you kinda want to do them? Want to try out being the wild girl you pretended to be for your sisters?”
It’s not until he’s said the words out loud that I realize he just hit the nail on the head. I nod and swallow hard, trying to get my bearings. “Yes,” I admit. “I guess that might be true.”
“Then the offer still stands,” he says. “To help with the Fucket List.” His smile is warm and open as he shifts his gaze back to the computer screen. “Tell me about the ‘pokey wheelie thing,’” he says. “The Wartenberg wheel. Why did you choose that?”
“I used one in biology classes in grad school,” I confess, pretty sure I’m offering up the lamest post-coital pillow talk he’s ever heard.
“Then I had ulnar nerve surgery a few years ago, and the neurologist used one on my arm. I got goosebumps and kind of wondered what it would feel like on other parts.”
“Other parts,” he repeats, looking up from the computer to give me that bemused smile I’m starting to really like. “What other parts, Cassie?”
I order myself not to blush, willing my capillaries to stay calm and keep functioning like normal. I’ve had this guy buried inside me. I should be past the point of feeling embarrassed.
“Clavicle, tits, sternum, hipbones,” I tell him. “In no particular order.”
He laughs like I’ve said the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “I love that you mix slang with the clinical terminology.”
“Science geeks can talk dirty, too.”
“That they can.” Simon clears his throat and looks back at the screen. “The spanking and hair pulling—”
“And the kitchen gadget. Don’t forget that part.”
He grins. “I couldn’t possibly. So, are you wanting to be spanked or do the spanking?”
“Are you game for either?”
I see him hesitate just a little, and there’s something about seeing a chink in his in-control demeanor that makes me smile.
“I’m open to negotiation.”
“Negotiation.” I smile. “Is this a business proposition, then? A la Fifty Shades of Grey? Please tell me you don’t have a contract in your briefcase.”
“I don’t own a briefcase,” he says. “And there’s definitely no contract.”
“Then why are you volunteering for this? Out of the kindness of your heart?”
He hesitates again, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too much. Then again, we’re talking about having this man enter my body repeatedly. I’m allowed to push a little.
“I like you,” he says at last. “And I like sex. A lot.”
“Clearly. And you’re quite good at it.”
“Thank you. I read a lot of sex manuals when I was a nerdy teenager.”
“That’s either the saddest or the hottest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell him. “Maybe both.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve had time to hone my skills since then.”
“I noticed.”
He grins and fixes his glasses again. I notice the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, though, and I wonder if there’s more to Simon’s story than he’s telling me.
“Wouldn’t you rather be out honing your skills some more instead of volunteering your services to a sheltered young dirt doctor?” I ask.
He shrugs and glances back at the screen. “I work a lot,” he says. “And I have certain obligations that keep me on a tight leash as far as relationships go.”
My arms prickle at that. “You’re not married, are you?”
“God, no!” He answers like I’ve just asked if he enjoys clubbing baby seals, and it occurs to me I might not be the only one in this bed with an aversion to the whole marriage and family shit-show.
“Definitely not married,” he says. “And no intention of ever getting married. Ever,” he repeats, like I might have missed the emphasis.
I give an unladylike snort. “You don’t have to worry about me trying to pin you down and wrestle a ring onto your finger,” I inform him. “I’m pretty committed to not being committed. And have a stupid list of sexual lies to prove it.”
“Touché,” he says, glancing back at the list. “But I’m also willing to wager you’re a little bit…conservative.”
He gives an idle wave at the screen, and the tip of his finger grazes the words I kissed a girl.
I try the single-eyebrow lift he gave me, but I’m pretty sure it looks like I have a facial tic. “What part of girl-on-girl action makes you think I’m conservative?” I ask.
“The fact that you haven’t already crossed these things off your list,” he says. “The fact that you made a list at all instead of just going out and sowing your wild oats.”
He’s got me there.
“For the record,” he says, “I’m sort of over one-night-stands. And as we’ve already established, I’m not interested in the whole relationship train wreck.”
Interesting. He calls it a train wreck, I call it a shit-show. It’s clear we’re on the same page as far as relationships go. And in other ways.
I feel a smile starting to spread across my face, and he must read exactly what I’m thinking. “We’re compatible in bed,” he says. “So it seems likely we’ll be able to fulfill your list to our mutual satisfaction.”
“You make it sound so sexy.”
He laughs then leans down and plants a kiss on my shoulder. “I’ll also admit I like a good challenge. Some of the things on this list fall into that category.”
“Which ones?”
He flashes me a grin, but doesn’t say anything. I realize he’s been doing most of the talking. I probably owe him something.
“I want to be spanked,” I say. At his mild look of alarm, I hurry to clarify. “Not right this second. I’m answering your question from earlier. About whether I want to do the spanking and hair pulling, or if I want those things done to me. It’s the latter.”
“I was hoping that was the case,” he says. “I think we’re going to get along beautifully. So, what do you say?”
I think about his proposal. I picture myself doing all those things on the Fucket List with him, with Simon, with this stunning example of masculinity sitting here naked in my bed. He smiles, and something in my chest unspools.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”