His voice is barely above a whisper. “And?” He’s smiling.
“And I don’t want you to get your hopes up.” There. I said it. My worst fear is now out there in the air between us. I suck in bed. I’ve been told that by three different guys, so I believe it. And I never get those sensations that women describe in magazines and on sexy blogs, so I have all the self-confirmation I need. Some women are tigers in bed, but I’m more like a small, weak kitten. It’s not that I don’t try; it’s just that I fail regardless.
The truth is that the scariest thing in my life is not a potential murderer who might be out there looking to gun me down; it’s that I’m doomed to mediocre sex for the rest of my life, and I’ll have to find a man who’s okay with that for the rest of his life. Yes, it’s possible I might have my priorities a little screwed up, but being bad at sex can be pretty devastating.
I continue with my confession. “I’m not good in bed, and I don’t want you to be disappointed in me later, so I’m telling you now. Full disclosure.”
He’s still smiling.
“It’s not a joke, Ozzie. I’m serious. I suck in bed.”
“That’s good.”
My face gets hot as the double meaning sinks in. “I don’t mean I suck, like literally . . .”
He play-pouts.
I giggle and it sounds crazy leaving my lips, so I cut it off immediately. “Of course I do that . . . I suck literally . . .” As soon as the words are out, I hate myself. Stupid much, May?!
Recover! Quick! “Ha-ha! I mean, that in bed, I’m not talented. Skilled. I’m lame in bed. But I try. I do try.” My face falls as I realize that I’ve pretty much just guaranteed myself an empty bed whenever he’s in town. No way will he want to be with someone as goofy as I am.
He leans down without saying anything and kisses me.
Slowly at first, and then with more urgency, his lips move against mine. Somehow we fit together perfectly. When he moves right to deepen the connection, I tilt my head left, and it works like magic. His tongue comes out to touch mine. It’s big, just like the rest of him. Hot. Wet. Slippery. Oh my . . .
Little shivers zing around inside me like they’re electrified. I kind of melt into him, wanting to be closer. He pulls me against him, and I love how his hard muscles press into my softer parts. This was meant to be. It has to be. It feels too good to be anything else.
His hands drop to my waist and rest there for a few moments while we play with each other’s tongues. He grabs mine gently with his teeth and I giggle, taking it back. Then he presses his hips into mine, and I can feel his hard length again. He pulls his head back and smiles down at me. “Anyone who can kiss like you can’t possibly suck in bed. And when I say suck, I mean not be good.”
I smile shyly, practically drowning in the kindness and promises I see in his eyes. “You’re just being nice.”
“No, I’m just being turned on as hell and really looking forward to being inside you.” He smacks me hard on the butt and steps away. “Not now, though. Business before pleasure.”
I stand there in the middle of my living room, stunned. My panties are damp, my body is ringing with unspent passion, and my brain is spinning circles around itself. What just happened? He wants to be inside me? Hallelujah, baby, I’m gonna get laid tonight!
Just the thought has me panicking all over again.
He, of course, is oblivious to my mental anguish, probably never suffering a single nanosecond of self-doubt in his life.
His voice comes out like a drill sergeant’s. “Come on! Chop-chop! Get the lead out! We’ve got some packing to do!” He’s already halfway up my staircase.
I look over at the dogs. Both of them are asleep. Neither of them knows that my world just got turned upside down and inside out by a guy who used to have the most horrible beard on the planet but who now looks like he stepped out of my hottest, sexiest, wettest dream ever.
In my next life, I want to come back as a dog. I think everything will be a lot simpler than the stuff going on in this crazy world I’m living in right now.
I sigh and follow in Ozzie’s trail. Before I even reach my room, I can hear him opening up drawers. I feel like I’ve lost control of everything when I see a suitcase open on the bed and it’s already half full of my clothing.
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” I ask, leaning on the doorframe. Now that I’m not in his arms, I have a better perspective for what I’m getting into. This could end really badly for both of us. When he kissed me this time, I felt it in my heart. And while Jenny is right—hearts do heal—it sure hurts like hell when they get broken.
“I’m sure. Get whatever you need out of your bathroom. I’ll hit the closet next. We leave after I let the dogs out for a quick run around the yard.”
I wander into the bathroom, hoping The Fates have everything under control, because I know I sure don’t.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The port is quiet, or as quiet as the Port of New Orleans can ever be. Even in the dead of night, there’re things going on, with people moving around, shipments arriving or leaving, business to be attended to. We pull into the warehouse, and I don’t get out of my car until the door shuts behind us with a solid boom.
Ozzie sets an alarm at a keypad near the main door before coming over to my car and unloading my suitcases. There are three, including a small bag for Felix’s toys and bowls. My furbaby hops out of my car and joins Sahara. They climb the stairs to Ozzie’s home ahead of us.
“You’ll take my bedroom and I’ll set up the cot for myself in the kitchen.”
I sigh, battling in my head over the whole plan. Having to stay here really complicates an already overly complicated situation. I hate that it’s my fault.
“You should take your bed. I don’t mind the cot.”
“Sorry, no can do. I get my way on this one.”
“On this one? Are we taking turns?” We reach the top of the stairs and I press in the code Ozzie gives me to enter. The door clicks and I pull it open. Felix and Sahara push in first. I hold it in place for Ozzie, who’s loaded down with all my bags. Those muscles really do come in handy sometimes. It’s pretty impressive, actually, to see that they’re not just for show. I think he could bench-press me. I’m kind of fascinated to see if it makes any difference in the bedroom. The last guy I was with weighed almost the same as me. Jenny called him The Twig.
“No, we’re not taking turns,” Ozzie says, moving through the sword room. “You can have your way all the time unless I decide I need to have my way.”
I smile. “I guess I can handle that. As long as you don’t decide you need to have your way more than half the time.”
His response is a grunt.
Moving down the hallway, I feel my steps slowing. This is his domain, not mine. His business, his home, his kitchen, even. What am I doing here? Is he going to hate me when he wakes up with a sore back from that cot? Am I taking advantage of his hospitality, of his need to care for his employees?
He puts my cases down on the floor by the bed. “I can clear a couple drawers out for you here so you don’t have to live out of your suitcases.” He moves over to a bureau. “I know two’s not enough, but I can move a rack in here for your hanging things.”
I walk over and put my hand on his arm. “Ozzie, stop.” I look up at him, pleading with my eyes.
His hands drop to his sides. “Stop what?”
“Stop . . . doing all this. Taking care of me while throwing yourself out of your own room.”
His voice goes very soft, very calm. “I’m not going to stop, May, I’m sorry. It’s not who I am.”
I stomp my foot, frustrated with our situation. “Why?” This is going to doom our relationship or any chance at a relationship that we might have had. It’s so unfair!