by Lori Foster
* * *
Becky looked at him sitting across the table from her—a place she'd never, ever expected to see
George sitting. Because it was getting to be late in the day, he had a dark beard shadow. She'd felt it
when he kissed her, knew she had a few slight burns on her throat, her cheeks. Amazing. She'd never
had whisker burn before. In many ways, it felt as though she'd been initiated.
George caught her staring and grinned. "What?"
Her smile lingered. "I was just.. . wondering about you."
He leaned back in his seat, a cookie in his hand. "Yeah? Like what?"
Becky shrugged. "I don't want to pry."
"No, it's okay. We might as well use this time to get to know each other better, right?"
She loved that idea, but having a personal relationship with a man was new to her. Having a
relationship with George defied all her expectations. "You're sure?"
"Well hell, you're making me curious with all this hesitation. What are you going to ask me anyway?
My social security number? How much money I make?"
"Of course not." She was insulted that he'd suggest such a thing. "I don't care about that."
His eyes narrowed a bit, making his dark gaze sharper. "Some women do, you know. What a man
makes ranks right up there with the size of his cock."
Becky sputtered on the drink of coffee she'd just swallowed. He kept taking her by surprise with the things he said, his unregulated speech.
"You okay, honey?" He made to stand and Becky waved him back into his seat. If he touched her
now, she was liable to attack him and then everything would be ruined. Twice now, she'd lost her
head with him, in the parking lot, in her own kitchen. He was under the ridiculous assumption she
was beautiful, and she didn't particularly want to dissuade him of that notion. If any of this was to
go right, it had to be as she'd planned, with the bondage.
And with the blindfold.
George stared at her, must have decided she wouldn't choke to death, and shrugged. "Sorry. I didn't
mean to shock you."
Becky didn't believe that for a second. It seemed to her that he took maniacal delight in shocking her. Besides, she'd already heard plenty about his dimensions. Women would whisper about him, pretend
to swoon, and get all flushed.
Becky had always found it all rather silly.
And intriguing.
She cleared her throat. "Let me reassure you, I don't care . .. about what you make."
His grin was slow and suggestive, wicked. "But you do care about the size of my cock, huh?"
Deciding to face him down, to give him a little of his own, she lifted her chin and nodded. "The
thought has occurred to me a few times. Especially since you're supposed to be ... impressive."
"Yeah?" He took a bite of the last remaining cookie, for all appearances unconcerned with the idea that his private male parts had been discussed around the break room. "When have you thought about it?"
Good grief, he wanted details? Becky sought words that would explain, but wouldn't be too graphic.
"Like when you were . .. you know, against me."
"Mmm." He gave her a sage nod. "Go on."
"And with all the ... well, the talk." She shrugged. "I suppose it was natural for me to be curious about
it, don't you think?"
He stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. He grabbed his coffee to wash down the cookie, and nodded. His eyes were still twinkling and his words were broken with chuckles. "I hate to break it
to you, Becky, but truth is, I'm really quite average."
That stunned her. "No way. I felt you." Her brows puckered. "Surely that's not... not average."
His laughter dwindled, then died. Suspicion made him frown. "Becky, exactly how much experience
do you have?"
She wasn't about to admit her experience was zilch. Nada. That other than the video he'd shown her earlier, she'd never seen a naked man.
"That's a personal question," she replied, trying to sound prim rather than evasive.
George barked a disbelieving laugh. "And the size of my dick isn't?"
That stumped her. "Well you're the one who told me to ask my questions."
"But it doesn't go both ways, huh? I'm to bare my soul and my manly measurements, but you get to
keep private?"
She felt guilty, darn it. "On some things." As if to appease him, she said, "I'll tell you my bra size."
He looked at her breasts. "I'd say a thirty-six C. Right?"
Darn. That was right on the money—the man knew women much too well. She frowned, but didn't reply.
"We'll never get to know each other better unless we share, now will we?"
He had a point. "I suppose not." Then, "Do you want to . .. you know, get that familiar? I mean, you don't just want to do ... what we planned to do ... tomorrow night?"
That idea seemed to ignite his temper. "One night? Oh no, Becky, you can forget that right now. It'll
take a damn month at least for me to even get close to getting enough of you."
"Oh." A whole month of having sex with George? The idea made her giddy. But would he continue to
let her restrain him that long?
George's scowl grew darker. "Okay, this is how it's going to be. An even exchange. You can ask me
a question, but for every one you ask, you have to answer one. Deal?"
She blanched at that suggestion. "I refuse to discuss past lovers." She couldn't discuss something that didn't exist. If he found out he was a guinea pig of sorts, he might lose interest or back out.
His eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Fair enough. That question is taboo—for both of us."
Well, darn. Becky sat back in a huff. There were at least three women at work who claimed to have
been intimate with him. She wanted to know if there were others, if half the women there had carnal knowledge of him, and what exactly he'd done with them. The curiosity was killing her. But now
she'd seem really petty if she pushed the issue. "All right," she muttered. "It's a deal."
He sat back with a satisfied nod. "Good."
Becky waited. And waited some more. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"How big is your . . . you know."
Being a complete cad, George asked with false confusion, "My what?"
Exasperated, Becky pointed.
"My waist? Thirty-four."
"No, not your waist."
His gaze was intent, taunting. Sexy. "Say it, Becky."
"Why?"
His voice changed, went husky. "Because I love it when a woman talks dirty."
Huh. She'd gotten that bit of information for free. Would she have the courage to talk dirty to him tomorrow? What kind of language qualified as dirty? With what he considered appropriate table conversation, it'd have to be pretty explicit to be dirty to him. She'd have to think about it. Or maybe
ask Erica.
No, she couldn't do that. He and Erica seemed to get along a little too well to suit her.
She drew a steadying breath. "How big is your.. . penis?"
That slow grin reappeared. "Penis?" He laughed. "What a spoilsport you are. My cock is about seven
and a half inches. Erect. And that's length by the way, not circumference."
"I know that!"
He laughed and finished off the last cookie.
Becky tried to picture a seven-and-a-half-inch penis— which was much smaller than the rubber penises she'd seen on the wall at the porn shop. But since she'd never seen a real one up close and personal, she decided she'd have to get a ruler out later to get a good visual. "Thank you. And you say that's average?"
"Close enough."
"Then why do they make the fake ones so big?"
George rubbed his face, and Becky suspected
he was laughing. "I'll explain that to you after."
"After?"
He dropped his hands. Nope, there was no sign of amusement in his expression. "After we've had sex."
"Oh." That shut her up. She couldn't think of another single thing to say.
George leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. "My turn."
Becky braced herself.
"Have you ever thought about having sex with me? I mean, before now. Anytime over the last two years?"
Oh, unfair! How did he come up with such a question? The last thing she wanted to do was admit that she'd fantasized over him a lot.