Good Girl's Bad Lessons

by Carmen Falcone

  He grabbed it from her hand. “Doesn’t it seem like you’ve had enough?”

  She shook her head and took it back from him. “Please. I was dumped today. I’m entitled.”

  He cleared his throat. “Your fiancé broke up with you?”

  “Yeah. Said I suck in the bedroom,” she said, then chugged down the glass. “That’s a complaint I bet you never had.”

  “Can’t say that I have.” He went to the kitchen, opened a few cupboards until he found wine glasses, and took one. When he returned, he poured himself some. What the hell could he say to make her feel better? He didn’t get this whole male/female friendship thing, which was why he never wasted time befriending the opposite sex. Still. A flicker of sadness gleamed in her pretty eyes, and he wanted it gone. “Listen, it has nothing to do with you. He’s the loser.”

  She rolled her eyes at him, unfazed. “Whatever. It has everything to do with me. Simon’s perfect for me. And I’m perfect for him, if he’s willing to look past his stupid fantasies.”

  He glanced down at the red contents in his glass. “He doesn’t know how to stoke that fire in you.”

  “It’s not him. Like, I’ve never had an orgasm before. I’m good at faking it. So it can’t be him.”

  Poor girl. “Never?”

  “Never. But it’s not like I slept with the entire city.”

  Like I have. Hmmm… “You don’t need the entire city. You just need one person to make you come.”

  “I guess. Sex isn’t really that important for me.”

  “How can it not be? Relationships start with sex and end with sex,” he said matter-of-factly. Hell, it probably had been that way between his folks, too. If they’d stuck with sex and not foolish emotions, they wouldn’t have had a fucked-up marriage and produced fucked-up children. Not that he’d ever have to worry about making the same mistake. He’d gotten a vasectomy for that exact reason.

  “Thanks.”

  “I don’t mean to hurt you, but—”

  She waved him off, impatient. “Listen, I know you’re the sex king. I get it. But all I want is someone to share my life with. Have kids. Someone who will be there through thick and thin, like my parents’ marriage.”

  “I’m sorry Simon wasn’t that guy,” he said, even though he didn’t feel sorry at all.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. He is that guy. I wish I wasn’t such a bad lay.”

  He gritted his teeth. Her low self-esteem about her performance bugged him, and he didn’t even know why. “Dio, you can’t be.”

  She shook her head. “Let’s face it. I never even came. Well, it’s not as easy for girls.”

  “Not if your man knows what he’s doing. It wasn’t your fault.”

  She sighed. “How can you be sure? You weren’t there.”

  Enough talking. A mix of frustration and challenge worked its way into his bloodstream, pumping his veins so hard, they were about to pop. He shouldn’t be doing this, but hell, it was too fucking late. “But I’m here now…and I’m about to show you that you can come. Take off your robe, get on the sofa, and I’ll teach you a thing or two about orgasms.”

  Chapter Two

  Emma looked at the enormous man in front of her. All those years, she always recognized Nico’s striking sexual appeal—after all, she had good vision. His six-foot-three imposing frame dwarfed her five-foot-five physique, but it wasn’t just about height difference.

  A long-sleeved black shirt clung to his muscles. He’d rolled up the sleeves, exposing his strong forearms and… Her gaze fell to his hands. They were big, with long, tanned fingers, and though he didn’t do manual labor, they didn’t look soft like the hands of men who moisturized too much.

  “On the sofa,” he said. “If you’re up for the challenge.”

  Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but she followed his demand. Hot as shit he could be, but she’d made peace with the fact she wasn’t orgasm prone. Maybe letting him try and fail would keep him honest and wipe the smug look from his ridiculously handsome face. He’d talked like there was something wrong with Simon.

  Please. Simon was perfect for her, and she’d show it to him. It was hard for a player like Nico to understand her wanting to be with someone forever, which had been why she’d never given him much attention. She and Nico would never have worked, what with his revolving door sex life. She longed for forever, and Nico was an in-the-meantime kind of guy.

  She sprawled on the L-shaped sofa, the butter-soft leather caressing the back of her knees. She could blame it on the alcohol or her bruised ego later. Now, she’d indulge in watching Nico try to make her come. And laugh at him later.

  He kneeled in front of her, and a wave of masculinity crashed over her. Her nipples pebbled against her lacy bra, the cute overpriced lingerie she’d bought when she thought she’d be celebrating her coveted engagement.

  A zing of desire moved through her—the excitement to prove Nico wrong. He undid the knot in her robe until the smooth string slid lazily to the side. Moisture evaporated from her throat, and she had to swallow twice.

  “What do we have here, piccola?”

  Shit. He pulled her robe to the side, exposing her white lingerie. It’d been a nod to a possible wedding night, a joke she’d make. Now she second-guessed her decision, as he placed a hand between the valley of her breasts, and the deep tan of his hand contrasted with her pale skin. God, his hand was heavy on her…he kept it still for a moment, and a need formed in her core for much more.

  She chewed on her lower lip, unable to yank her gaze from him. He regarded her body, a beam of approval curling his lips. She sucked in a breath to make sure the stubborn roundness of her belly would flatten.

  What do I care what he thinks? If Nico wanted a runway model, she bet he had their numbers on speed-dial on his iPhone. This was just a silly challenge.

  At last he cupped one of her breasts, teasing it through the fabric of her bra. She drew in a breath again, but for an entirely different reason. She tensed up, sending her body a silent plea to behave. She fought the urge to dive her hands into his hair and stroke his scalp. She curled her fingers into fists at her sides.

  He angled closer, and specks of gold flickered around his striking forest green irises… He had amazing eyes. Had they always been so fiery?

  He parted his lips and covered her body with his. Whoa. She gasped, feeling the weight of that huge man on her, but within a second he eased off her, propping himself on his elbows. Still, the heat emanating from him quickly made its way into her, upping her body temperature.

  He lowered his head, and she caught a whiff of his scent, a wonderful fragrance with notes of bamboo and sandalwood and…Nico. Strong. Seductive. Remarkable, just like the man himself.

  She tilted her head up, longing for the kiss, but he withdrew with a devilish grin on his face. He lowered himself onto her, and she arched into him. A heat she wasn’t used to expanded in her chest, searing her insides. I should drink more often before sex.

  He closed his mouth on her covered breast, the warmth of his lips enveloping her tit. She moaned, twisting her legs, unable to keep still under his mouth. A raw need entered her, lighting her up like a matchstick. He teased her, running his tongue over the lace. Her nipples strained so much into the fabric, they ached. Her medium-sized breasts felt big and heavy. Whenever he lapped his tongue over her bra, a tingle shot through her, and she clamped her lips to keep from shouting his name. Okay, so he was good at provoking… Didn’t mean he’d make her come, right?

  He took his mouth to her other breast, and soon the same pattern began, with him sucking without removing her bra.

  “Nico…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. His name flew from her lips like both an illness and a cure. She couldn’t control the sensations flowing through her, but damn it. Didn’t matter, none of it mattered but the crazy pull she felt toward him.

  He lowered one hand down her body, grabbing the hem of her robe and pulling it up. The excessive amount of fabr
ic bunched at her waist, and he headed south. Soon he removed her G-string, sliding it down her legs, and she didn’t miss the fire in his eyes when he glanced at her, semi-naked on the sofa.

  With her pussy soaking wet for him.

  God. He murmured something in Italian that she didn’t understand but sounded hella sexy. Then he disappeared between her legs, pinning each foot to his shoulder, and she’d never felt more exposed.

  She’d waxed specially for tonight, the thin strip of hair in the middle sizzling to make contact with his breath. He traced the outline of her clit with the tip of his tongue, and a ball of heat lodged in her throat. A shiver zipped down her spine, giving her goose bumps.

  She’d supposed oral sex was the gateway to Pleasure Land, from what she’d heard from friends. But she’d always been self-conscious to receive pleasure and never let go completely. She pretended to enjoy it, and was good at it.

  But this…

  This is way better.

  He parted her thighs a notch farther, and positioned his head closer to her sex. He flicked her clit with his thumb and stroked her folds with his tongue. She took sharp breaths, her chest rising and falling at a maddening rate.

  “Deliciosa…” he said in Italian, and she didn’t need to be a genius to translate. He liked her pearly essence? He responded to her silent question by lashing her folds harder and upping the teasing of her clit. He thrust two fingers inside her, and oxygen failed her for a moment.

  She blinked, seeing little dots on her now blurry field of vision. Sweat glistened her forehead and neck, and a heat equal to an African summer radiated through her from top to bottom. She undulated her hips, wanting him to screw her there and then.

  “More,” she begged, not wanting that throbbing need to end. Not now, not ever. God. What was happening to her?

  He added a third finger to the insatiable teasing game, retreating and shoving them into her sex relentlessly. She gyrated her hips, tingles spreading through her, each time stronger. “That’s it, babe. Let’s get there. Fuck my mouth.”

  Groaning, he leaned down and parted her slick folds with his tongue, until he found her opening and thrust his tongue. She undulated her hips, grasping on the sides of the sofa, whimpering. Loud.

  When he increased the intensity of his fingers driving in and out of her, she couldn’t take it anymore. He pleasured her with his mouth and fingers, and the tingles from before upgraded to a searing throb. Her insides contracted, the tension reaching a painful level, only to release…a delicious jolt, starting in her core and fast tracking everywhere. She spasmed, and the climax detonated through her, sending her into a crazy spiral.

  She mellowed as her body still trembled, each part of her branded by her first-ever orgasm.

  By the time Emma’s heart resumed its regular pace, not only had Nico disengaged from her, he had stood. Emma wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and tied her robe, covering herself. She stuck a strand of hair behind her ear, adjusted herself on the sofa, and sat.

  “I guess you just showed me, huh?” she said, attempting to keep the mood light.

  He paced a couple of times before glancing back at her, but the usual easy smile or cocky, smug look didn’t embellish his face. His brows furrowed, and he stared at her with a degree of frustration.

  Was he upset that she didn’t, well, return the favor? “I’ll be happy to do the same for you,” she offered. “I seriously doubt I’ll be half as good at this as you, but—”

  “No,” he hissed out. “No, Emma. Can’t you see? I wanted to show you there isn’t anything wrong with you. That’s all.”

  There isn’t anything wrong with me. Realization dawned on her, and she stood, hands perching at her waist. With the haze from the orgasm she’d almost forgotten the real reason why he’d eaten her out like she was an exquisite dish. All she needed to come was the right guidance. And shit, who was a better teacher than Nico? What else could he teach her that she could use in her daily life…with Simon?

  “I’ll see myself out.” He motioned to move, but she stepped forward, putting herself in front of him.

  “No,” she blurted. “Don’t go. Can’t you see? You’re a sex genius, Nico. I’ve never come, and I thought that was the norm. Within a few minutes you took me there.”

  “Grazie, but—”

  “What else can you teach me?”

  He withdrew, shaking his head. “How to keep this little mishap a secret so you don’t ruin a decades-long friendship.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. Zaine was a pain in the ass, always had been. She imagined he’d make a big deal if he found out his trusted best friend had played with his sister’s kitty. Still…she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. “Don’t worry, I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  “Great. I’m glad I could help out.”

  She grabbed his elbow. “Wait! Nico, have you ever considered using your, er, gift for the greater good? Not just for debauchery?”

  He upped an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  She loosened her hold on him without letting go. The idea cemented in her mind, making more and more sense. “Well, let’s see. I suck in bed, and you’re great in bed. Why can’t you help me get better? If I do improve, I’ll have a chance in convincing Simon I can be the sex bomb he wants me to be and save our relationship.”

  He chuckled then quickly said, “No.”

  “Why not?”

  He stepped back, breaking contact with her, and crossed his arms. “Because Zaine would kill me.”

  “Your tongue just high-fived my vagina.”

  “That’s different. I was proving a point, and there was no intercourse involved,” he said, and she could have laughed at his typical male rationalization.

  “So it didn’t count?” If he did me a favor, why can’t he do another? A bolt of determination surged through her, and she stretched to her full height. So she didn’t excel in the bedroom department yet, but she had stubbornness on her side.

  He sighed. “It does, but not in the way you think. I feel better about giving you some…assistance, let’s call it. I didn’t fuck you.”

  “I get it, but would you like to?”

  “Does it matter? I have better things to worry about. The Desmorais fund-raiser, the—”

  “Angele Desmorais? The French political author?” she asked. A known historian, Angele had written dozens of bestselling books about politics and history, which garnered him several coveted awards. But his millions came from inheriting a small fortune from a late uncle.

  “Yes. How do you know him?”

  “It started when I accompanied him as an interpreter a few years ago.” She reached for the bottle of wine on the table, poured herself a generous amount, and raised the glass. Could she use Desmorais as leverage?

  “You did? How? He doesn’t travel much from what I’ve heard.”

  “I was doing a special training at the United Nations when a friend told me about this picky client who needed someone in New York for a weekend. We worked so well together that the other two times he visited the country he paid for my airfare from Los Angeles to New York so I’d be his personal interpreter.” After having worked with Desmorais, she’d imagined her friend also had asked her because no one else wanted the job—the man could be quite intimidating and demanding, but thankfully she’d found a way to get along, and they ended up working well together.

  “Interesting. Have you heard from him recently?”

  “Yes. I’m currently working with him on a project. But I can’t share much. I’ve signed a tight confidentiality agreement.” Sure, the animal sanctuary Desmorais wanted to make in his beloved home in Mauritius didn’t seem like a major secret, but she’d signed a document like she had every other job. Besides, they’d talked about it two weeks prior, but he’d told her the execution would take place in a couple months while he gathered information and resources he needed. He’d used her because she’d be taking the team of Americans to Mauritius when the time
came—to create there the kind of sanctuary resembling many of those found stateside.

  He lifted his hand in disagreement. “Trust me, I don’t need details on your secret project with him.”

  “Then why do you care?”

  He took the glass from her hands, like he needed her complete focus, and put it on the table. She frowned at him, but he ignored her. “He has a piece of property I’m interested in buying. I’ve tried to get in touch, but the man is…peculiar. He’s not impressed by my wealth or business savvy,” he said, scratching his chin.

  She doubted Nico met many people who weren’t swayed by his money or charms. “Well, I can see that. Mr. Desmorais keeps to himself,” she said, remembering he’d only started sharing a tiny bit more about himself after the third time she interpreted on his behalf. Only later did she discover he spoke decent English, but refused to speak anything but French for speeches and lectures outside France and Mauritius.

  “What do you know about him?”

  “He’s a client. I can’t tell you stuff, as that would be unethical,” she said.

  “He likes you, otherwise he wouldn’t have requested you so many times.”

  “Yes, that I can agree with. He told me once I remind him of his daughter,” she said hoping the random comment wouldn’t bite her in the butt later.

  “I have a proposition for you. Come with me as my companion to this fund-raiser in Mauritius in a week. Desmorais will be there. He already likes you, so bringing you along as my date will be good for me. Not to mention, you speak French.”

  “Yeah, but what’s in it for me?” Besides a free trip.

  He inched closer, staring into her eyes. “I’ll pay you a lot of money. First class ticket. Clothes. Whatever you need.”

  She’d expected to visit Mauritius when Desmorais’s project began, but this would be much sooner. Aside from seeing him to cement their professional relationship, she doubted she’d be able to move the needle as far as the sanctuary project. How could the trip be beneficial to her? She threaded her fingers, pacing around. Think. Think… A light bulb burst in her brain, a thrill of anticipation raising goose bumps on her skin. “Whatever I need?”