Текст книги "Sensational"

Автор книги: Janet Nissenson

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Ben’s dark blue eyes widened. “Uh, would you be speaking from first hand viewing experience?”

She gave him a flirty little wink. “Absolutely. One of my soccer teammates in high school – Erika – lived in this huge-ass mansion in Pebble Beach – pool, tennis courts, the works. So naturally everyone wanted her parents’ place to be our hangout after the last practice of the week each Friday. Especially since her parents always went out that night, and kept both the fridge and the bar stocked to overflowing.”

“What does all this have to do with watching porn flicks?” he asked, puzzled.

Lauren ran her tongue along the side of his neck, pleased when he gave a little shiver of reaction. “Getting there, Blue Eyes. So, this mansion also included two playrooms. One was the PG-rated version – pool table, video games, that sort of stuff. And the other playroom – the one Erika stole a key for – was the X-rated version. In addition to housing a very disturbingly large collection of porn flicks, the room was sort of a – well, I guess you’d call it a dungeon.”

His mouth gaped open in shock. “You mean like – ”

She nodded. “Whips, chains, shackles, all that kinky shit. But Erika didn’t believe for a minute that her parents ever actually used any of it, that they just liked to fantasize about stuff. And given that her father had a stick about a yard long wedged up his ass, while her mother would have had a panic attack if she broke a fingernail, I’m pretty sure she was right.”

Ben began to laugh, the vibrations rumbling in his chest. “So you and your soccer teammates used to spend Friday nights eating snacks, getting drunk, and watching dirty movies? Well, that sure as hell beats how I used to spend my Friday nights during high school – working some lousy minimum wage job.”

“Well, we didn’t watch porn every week. Sometimes we’d mix it up with a slasher flick or an action/adventure movie.”

He began to massage the nape of her neck gently. “What? No chick flicks or rom-coms?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes at him in mock disgust. “God, no, never that crap. Look, lots of girls play soccer these days, starting from when they’re little kids. But in most cases it’s because their parents push them into it. If you’re still playing sports competitively by your junior or senior year of high school, it’s because you want to, because you’re a true athlete. And you don’t – ever – watch chick flicks.”

He grinned at her passionate little speech. “Got it. No chick flicks, no rom-coms. You know, sweetheart, the more I learn about you – which I’m beginning to think could take a lifetime – the more you’re sounding like the perfect woman. Let’s see – you like beer, you do martial arts, you drive a pick-up truck but really want a motorcycle. You’ve got those dogs so well trained they’re like a small army, got a mouth on you like a sailor, and like to watch porn. And I believe I noticed at least one tattoo. May I?”

He picked up her left wrist, turning it slightly until the small mark on the inside was revealed. “What is this?” he asked, his long, blunt fingers tracing gently around the ink.

“The Gemini. You know,” she explained as he looked puzzled, “the twins. When my sister and I went away to college – she’s back east at Cornell – it was the first time we’d ever spent a significant amount of time apart. So I got this done as a little reminder of Julia – so that I’d always have a little part of my twin with me.”

“And did Julia get a matching tattoo?”

Lauren hooted with amusement. “Julia? You’ve got to be kidding. We may be identical in looks and shoe size and even our bra size, but the resemblance ends there. Jules would probably faint just from looking at the tattoo needle.”

“Should I assume she also doesn’t play sports or know how to take an adult male down with a chop block?”

She shook her head. “While I was at judo class, Jules would be in the dance studio at the other end of the strip mall doing ballet. And instead of soccer or softball, she did gymnastics. Now,” she turned up her nose with a little sniff, “she’s obsessed with yoga of all things. Every time I talk to her she’s either scurrying off to a class or just getting back from one.”

Ben continued to rub the roughened pad of his thumb over her tattoo. “Is this your only ink?”

“Nope.” She wriggled onto her stomach. “Two more. But you’ll have to find them on your own.”

Lauren shivered in reaction as his hand began to slowly trace its way down her spine, taking his time as he leisurely explored every curve and dip. There hadn’t been time for this during either of their previous encounters – they’d been far too frantic and wild, intent only on pushing each other over the edge as quickly and savagely as possible. Now, though, when the edge had been take off a bit, there was time to enjoy the moment, to savor each touch, to memorize each caress.

His big hand squeezed each cheek of her buttocks before continuing its lazy glide down the backs of her leanly muscled hamstrings all the way to her calves.

“Ah. Here’s number two,” he declared triumphantly as he lifted her left foot, running his fingertips along her inner ankle. “And even less idea of what this one means. Are those Chinese characters?”

Lauren didn’t even try to muffle the little groan of pleasure as he began to gently massage her foot. “Mmm, no. They’re ah – wow, that’s good – erm, Japanese. It means – ooh, yeah, go over that spot again just like that – bravery. I got it in honor – oh, honey, you’ve got like magic fingers, you know? – of my first judo teacher – Yamashiro Sensei. He died a year ago, just two months after his eighty-fifth birthday. He – well, that’s another story altogether – but let’s just say he was like a second father to me, except that he had a lot more patience than my own dad. Especially when I was five.”

“I can’t imagine anyone losing their patience with you,” jibed Ben. “I would have just assumed you were a sweet, docile little girl.”

Her snort was loud, derisive, and extremely unladylike. “My father would be rolling around on the floor with hysterical laughter right now to hear you say that.”

“Yeah, well, forgive me if I don’t want to think about your father at this exact moment,” he drawled sardonically. “Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, searching for that elusive third tattoo.”

She gasped as his hand slid up between her thighs, to where she was already wet, a fact he quickly discovered as he slowly pumped two long fingers in and out of her with controlled deliberation.

“Um, I, ah, definitely don’t have a – ah, God – tattoo – um, there,” she panted.

“No?” Ben’s body covered hers now – chest to back – as he used his superior strength to pin her to the mattress. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I’ve heard about guys getting their dicks inked or pierced – two images I’d really rather not visualize.”

“Mmm, well I’ve seen pictures of both at the tattoo parlor I go to. And while some women get their clit hood pierced, I doubt that anyone has ever gotten ink way down there.”

He eased his body from hers, only to flip her over onto her back. His dark blue eyes were filled with what she guessed was very uncharacteristic mischief.

“Well, I still think I should check it out just the same,” he taunted. “After all, tattoo number three must not be very large or I’d have noticed it by now. In fact,” he added, as his mouth trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the side of her neck down to her collarbone, “I’d better check this side of you very, very carefully. I mean, when you consider all of the places that pesky little tattoo could be hiding away.”

Lauren’s breath hissed in sharply as Ben cupped a breast in his big hand, his thumb teasing the nipple as he pretended to inspect the underside carefully.

“Hmm, nothing on this one,” he murmured in a voice that had grown decidedly husky. “Gotta check the other one now.”

She squirmed eagerly beneath him as he plumped the other breast up, and then ran his tongue over the nipple. “Just so you know,” she told him breathlessly, her hips lifting off the bed as he sucked the entire areola between his lips, “my breasts are off limits for any sort of ink. No nipple piercings, either.”

“Good.” Ben squeezed both breasts roughly before kissing a path down her cleavage towards her belly. “Because your tits are works of art, sweetheart, and to deface something so sensational would be the worst sort of crime. Now, where’s number three hiding?”

He continued to kiss and caress his way down her abdomen, parting her legs as he did so to nuzzle her vulva. She clutched his head to her, cursing him silently for not having the sort of long hair that would have allowed her to tug him in even closer.

“Ben.” Her voice was a plaintive wail as his tongue teased the slick folds of her inner labia. “Ah, God.” She grabbed handfuls of the already rumpled sheets as he slid two fingers back inside of her and began to flick his tongue back and forth over her overly sensitized clit. “I’m all – I should really wash and – ohhh!”

He had one hand splayed over her heaving belly, holding her down as her hips thrashed wildly beneath the twin assaults of his mouth and fingers. “You don’t need to wash,” he murmured hoarsely as he lifted his head for a moment. “Just like you didn’t want me to wash earlier when you were giving me head. Especially since you’re the most delicious treat I’ve ever tasted.”

He sucked on her clit then, his fingers pumping frantically in and out of her slick, creamy pussy, and she fell apart – falling and falling until she feared she’d never reach the ground again. Her whole body was quivering in reaction to the stunning orgasm he’d just brought her to, and her arms reached out blindly for him, craving his embrace.

But Ben ignored her outstretched arms as he resumed his quest to find the elusive third tattoo. “Ah. Found it at last. And this one at least I recognize. But tell me – why a seahorse?” he inquired, examining the tiny but perfectly detailed image that graced the instep of her right foot.

She was still struggling to breathe, her head still spinning from the really fabulous demonstration of oral sex he’d just given her. “I, uh, need a minute here, okay?” she wheezed. “Just regaining consciousness.”

He chuckled as he released her ankle and took her into his arms instead, cradling her against him. “Is that a good thing? Passing out after an orgasm, that is.”

“It’s way, way better than good, Blue Eyes,” she whispered, caressing his heavily stubbled jaw. “It’s out of this world, fucking amazing. You’ve, ah, got a gift. Or maybe just a whole lot more experience than my previous partners.”

Ben grimaced. “I doubt that. Don’t forget I went to college, too, and almost every roommate I had was a big manwhore. So I’ve got a feeling the guys you’ve been with more than likely have way more notches on their belts than I do.”

“Okay. Maybe experience isn’t the correct word,” she agreed. “Let’s search our vocabulary and see if we can come up with the right one. How about expertise? Finesse? Or what about instinct or mastery or maybe – ”

He laid two fingers over her lips. “How about,” he suggested in a low, sexy voice, “it’s just a matter of having met the right woman to uncover my previously undetected skills?”

Lauren grinned up at him even as he nudged her thighs apart and began to slowly feed his fully engorged cock back inside of her an inch at a time. “I’d say that makes you something of a bullshitter.” She gasped loudly as he gave a sudden, hard thrust, burying his penis fully inside of her. “But that, ah – oh, God, sooo good – if you keep making me – oooh – feel this amazing you can tell me whatever BS you dream up.”

Ben’s mouth captured hers in another blistering kiss as he continued to ram his cock inside of her pliant body with hard, deep thrusts. “It’s not bullshit,” he whispered raggedly in between kisses. “I’ll never feed you BS, Lauren, or lie to you. But nothing would please me more than to make sure you keep feeling this way. And, like you reminded me earlier, I’ve got a whole year to make up for, don’t I?”

For once she didn’t have a witty comeback, but it didn’t matter because what she was feeling quickly became way too intense for mere words to express.

Chapter Three

Ben took a sip of the mellow cabernet sauvignon, leaning over the deck railing as he observed that the view of the night sky was every bit as stunning as those of the sunrise, high noon, or sunset. It was nearing the end of his fourth day here in Big Sur, and still his breath caught in his throat every single time he saw this view – no matter what time of day, or whether it was sunny, foggy, or pitch black outside.

These last few days had been almost unreal in a way – like a chapter out of time – and he knew with a sense of dread that this magical time couldn’t last forever. Or even much longer. While he didn’t have a specific deadline of any sort to finish this article – one of the few perks of being a freelance journalist – he also couldn’t afford to simply hang around here for weeks on end. He had to get the rest of the article finished up as quickly as possible, which entailed at least ten more stops en route along Highway One until his final destination in San Diego.

And while Lauren didn’t have to be back at school for several more weeks, he knew that her parents were due back from their trip to Scotland and the British Isles within the next two weeks. And he had a very strong hunch that they wouldn’t be at all pleased to learn their daughter had a house guest – especially one who had barely enough money in his bank account to finance the rest of his trip.

He’d tried on numerous occasions to buy groceries or take her out to dinner as a way to repay her hospitality, but Lauren had brushed him off each time. Instead, she’d been true to her word and heaped one chore after another on him – washing her mud-caked truck; feeding the three dogs – who always seemed to be hungry – as well as helping her take them for walks twice a day; doing the dishes after each meal; and helping her stain and seal the deck – a project she’d promised her father would be taken care of before the summer ended.

But he still felt like a freeloader, especially since he knew the wine he was drinking now had likely cost thirty bucks a bottle, and that the steaks they’d grilled for dinner had been of a prime cut. He’d noticed over the past few days that everything in the house – furniture, linens, dishes, etc. – might appear simple and even bohemian at first glance, but upon closer inspection had proven to be of a very high quality. Even the casual clothing that was all Lauren seemed to own – tank tops, bikinis, shorts, jeans, flip flops – were largely brands that he recognized as being on the upscale side.

And, unknown to Lauren, he’d done a bit of research on her parents, learning that Natalie Benoit was considered one of the great painters of her generation, and that her works typically sold in the five figure range. As for Lauren’s father, Ben had determined that Robert McKinnon had been a much sought-after architect up until his semi-retirement just a couple of years ago. Ben had also checked out some local real estate listings and figured that this deceptively simple, rather small cabin – albeit with its jaw-dropping views and surrounding property – was worth over two million dollars.

Everything added up to the inescapable facts that Lauren’s parents were millionaires, and that her upbringing in the exclusive community of Carmel had been markedly different from his own rather dreary childhood back in Ohio. After his parents had divorced and then quickly established separate homes with new spouses and second families, Ben hadn’t even had a bedroom of his own, shuttling back and forth between two homes constantly and bunking in with one of his half-siblings. Money had always been tight, and he’d had to make do with the basics. He hadn’t even owned a cell phone or laptop until he’d started college, where he had worked three part-time jobs to pay for the expenses not covered by scholarships and grants.

And he sensed that Lauren’s childhood had also been an extremely happy one, with parents and a sister who had loved and cherished her. He’d glimpsed dozens of photographs clustered around the cabin – on tabletops and bookcases, hanging on the walls – and each one spoke of a warm, close-knit, and very happy family life. Ben’s favorite photo had been one of Lauren and her twin, when they had been approximately seven or eight years old. Lauren had been wearing her martial arts gi – white pants and jacket with a purple cloth belt, and had been barefoot. Julia, who looked so much like her sister that it was almost eerie, even for identical twins, had been garbed all in pink – leotard, tights, a short wraparound skirt, and ballet slippers. Both girls were smiling broadly, their arms flung over the other’s shoulder, and Ben had realized that even as little girls they’d been gorgeous.

He envied Lauren tremendously. Oh, not for the understated but still obviously affluent lifestyle she’d no doubt enjoyed all her life. No, he envied her instead for the loving family that she’d always had, the comfort in knowing that she was loved and cherished, and that she belonged – things that Ben had never really known in his own life.

“Should I open another bottle of wine, or is it time to move on to the hard stuff?”

He smiled as a now-familiar voice startled him out of his brooding, and he held out his arm, beckoning her close.

Lauren wasted no time in snuggling up against his side, wrapping her arms around his waist as he hugged her in tight.

“I’m good for now,” he told her quietly. “Still full from dinner actually. I’m not sure I could eat or drink another thing at the moment.”

Teasingly, she pinched the side of his waist. “Yeah, you look like you’ve put on a few pounds. Good, because you were a teensy bit on the lean side for my liking.”

“Is that right?” he drawled in amusement. He pinched her ass in retaliation, chuckling when she yelped in protest. “Well, sweetheart, every part of you is one hundred and fifty percent to my liking, so don’t change a thing, hmm?”

She stood up on her bare toes, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a resounding smooch on his unshaven cheek. “Okay, boss. Whatever you say.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Like you’d ever think of me as your boss. Or do anything I asked for that matter. You, sweetheart, are what’s known as a law unto herself. No one is ever going to be able to control you.”

Lauren snickered. “One of my teachers used to call me a little tornado.”

He shook his head. “Not tough enough. You’re more like a Category Five hurricane.”

She laughed in delight. “Hurricane Lauren. I love it. Think the National Weather Center might name one after me someday?”

Ben pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Absolutely. Though it can’t hurt to send them an email request.”

They stood there for a few minutes wrapped in each other’s arms as they gazed out at the night sky. The moon, nearly full, was just beginning to rise, and soon the stars would all be out in full force.

“So I guess this means we’ll need to wait awhile before dessert?” Lauren asked, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

He caressed the skin of her back, bared by the cropped halter top she wore. “That depends,” he teased. “If you’re the dessert, then I don’t think my appetite would ever be appeased.”

“Hah, hah.” In retaliation, she bit down – a little too hard to be considered a love bite – on his earlobe. “Well, I’m always on the menu, Blue Eyes,” she murmured suggestively. “But for tonight I also made my specialty – actually, it’s the only dessert I know how to make – slutty brownies.”

He quirked a brow at her. “I’m not sure if that sounds disgusting or delicious. What – exactly – are slutty brownies?”

Lauren grinned impishly. “Well, it isn’t a dessert baked by hookers, if that’s what you’re thinking. To make them, you layer chocolate chip cookie dough – refrigerated in this case, mind you, ‘cause I do not make anything from scratch – a bag of Oreo cookies, a jar of caramel syrup, and then the brownie batter. Topped with more caramel syrup once they’re out of the oven.”

“Jesus, I feel kind of nauseous just thinking about them,” he groaned, clutching his stomach. “Serves you right for cooking such a great dinner.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t anything special. Just salad and bread from the bakery in town and the steaks. And you did the grilling. I’ve told you before that I’m not much of a cook.”

He slid a hand to the nape of her neck, massaging it gently. “And I’ve told you that just isn’t true. Granted, I’m not a picky eater but everything you’ve made so far has been delicious.”

She’d surprised him – after her multiple and fervent warnings that she could barely boil water – by just how good a cook she really was. Granted, nothing had been fancy or complicated, and pretty much all of it in the way of comfort food – pancakes, grilled cheese sandwiches, fish tacos. Nothing had been too fussy – he didn’t think Lauren ever actually fussed over anything – just good, tasty food simply prepared.

Lauren waved a hand in dismissal. “My mom and sister are the cooks in the family. If either of them had cooked tonight we would have had something elaborate like salad Nicoise, coquille St. Jacques, sole meuniere, and crème brulee.” She wrinkled her nose slightly. “They both love all that very traditional French stuff. My grandfather was a chef, you know, first back in Montreal where he grew up and then in New York City. He’d be turning over in his grave right now if he knew I use spaghetti sauce from a jar.”

Ben grimaced. “Well, he’d really have a problem with the ravioli I used to eat from a can, then. And all that stuff you just mentioned, with the fancy French names? I honestly have no idea what most of it is. I’m a pretty simple guy, Lauren, as you’ve probably already noticed. I don’t wear suits or drink expensive wines and I wouldn’t know gourmet food if it fell in my lap. So stop dissing your cooking skills because I’ve loved everything you’ve made so far.”

“Really?” She beamed at him, the smile lighting up her gorgeous face. “Well, don’t get used to it, Blue Eyes, because tomorrow it’s frozen waffles for breakfast and that spaghetti I just mentioned for dinner.”

He slid his arms around her waist. “Sounds a hell of a lot better than most of the meals I get these days. But you forgot about lunch.”

Lauren shook her head. “Nope. But that’s a surprise. You’ll see tomorrow what I’ve got planned.”

He gazed down at her warily. “You’re not taking me surfing again, are you? Because I’m not sure that’s really my thing.”

She smiled before stretching up to brush a kiss on his chin. “Not surfing, no. And you did fine. I mean, you can’t expect to get the hang of it after only two days. I’ve been surfing since I was six.”

In truth, he hadn’t done all that badly during the two surfing trips she’d dragged him along on, had actually managed to stay upright for a few seconds at a time. But he’d been intimidated by Lauren’s obvious expertise, not to mention the dozen or so male surfers who all seemed to know her very well, if the number of hugs exchanged and blatant flirting going on were any indication.

Everyone, in fact, seemed to know Lauren. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told him that first day that she knew every innkeeper and park ranger in the area. She also knew the proprietors of the general store, bakery, coffee shop, gas station, art gallery, and the adventure sports outfitters. When they took the dogs for walks along the beach or a trail, everyone they passed greeted Lauren by name. And Ben had thought each and every time how wonderful it would be to have that sense of belonging, of community, of family – things that he hadn’t known since he was a small boy and even then not to the same degree that Lauren did.

“The stars are all out now. But I always forget which constellation is which. Is that one over there Sirius or Ursa Major?”

Ben glanced to where she was pointing. “Neither. That one’s Cassiopeia.” With all the years of backpacking and adventure travel he’d done, he had learned early on how to navigate using not just maps and a compass but the solar system as well.

“Oh.” She shrugged carelessly. “Well, astronomy was never one of my strong suits at school.”

“What was?”

She scuffed a bare foot along the freshly stained deck before replying in a joking manner, “Well, I was tops of my class in P.E. After that – well, most everything else was a little challenging.”

Ben looked at her quizzically. “What does that mean?”

She kept her gaze downcast. “Just that I wasn’t the best student in the world. Things didn’t come easy for me.”

He shook his head. “Now that I don’t believe. You’re one of the smartest, well educated people I’ve ever met and you’re only twenty years old.”

Over the past few days they’d talked almost nonstop on a wide variety of subjects – ranging from sports to books to current events and world politics – and he’d admittedly been surprised by just how intelligent and witty Lauren was. Not so surprisingly, she had very strong opinions on just about everything, but was obviously well read and had a razor sharp mind.

Lauren broke away from his embrace to prop her elbows on the deck railing, staring out at the night sky. “It’s better now. By high school, I’d learned how to deal with it, enough that I could get into a school like UCLA. But I had to work like hell, and even now it’s a daily struggle.”

“What is?” Ben was becoming increasingly puzzled.

She heaved a sigh. “If I’m going to talk about this, then I insist we break out the tequila. Wait here.”

As Lauren dashed inside the house before he could question her further, Ben continued to ponder what it was she was so obviously reluctant to tell him. And he realized that this was the first time since meeting her that Lauren had seemed something besides her usual arrogant, cocky self. She’d appeared more than a little vulnerable, uncertain, and closed-mouthed, three traits he would never have thought of applying to her.

“Here. Have a seat. I brought out the good stuff.”

He turned just as she was setting a bottle of Gran Patron Platinum, two shot glasses, a salt shaker, and a bowl of lime wedges onto the glass-topped rattan coffee table. By the time he sat down next to her on the padded rattan settee, she’d already bolted down a shot and was refilling her glass.

He didn’t bother warning her to take it easy on the booze, for he’d already seen –with disbelieving eyes – exactly how much alcohol she could put away without blinking an eye. She had certainly drank him under the table – not that he’d ever been one to overindulge.

Ben licked the salt off his palm, bolted down the tequila, and then sucked on a lime wedge before asking her quietly, “So, what’s this all about?”

Lauren was quiet for long seconds – quite possibly the longest amount of time she’d gone without speaking since they’d met. She didn’t look at him, and both her facial expression and her voice were uncharacteristically somber

“Hardly anyone knows what I’m about to tell you,” she began haltingly. “My parents and sister, of course, my Aunt Maddy and Uncle Mal. A few teachers, doctors, therapists over the years. And, really, it’s no big deal, something that’s actually very common. But, well, I’ve always had a tough time admitting that – that I’ve got ADHD.”

Ben knew how difficult making such an admission had been for someone as proud and arrogantly confident as Lauren. And, he realized, the knowledge of her condition explained a whole lot of things he’d picked up on over the last few days – her almost frantic energy and nonstop chattering; how she rarely sat still for more than a few minutes at a time; and how she could fall asleep almost instantly but at the same time rarely seemed to need more than four or five hours of sleep each night.

He’d become aware of the latter the last couple of nights when she’d woken him up from a sound sleep around two or three in the morning, with his dick either halfway down her throat or already buried deep inside her slick, hot pussy. He wondered now if her voracious sexual appetite – no matter how often or how hard they fucked it seemed she was always ready for more – was due in part to her ADHD. And – God help him – maybe it was really, really shitty of him to be thankful for this potential symptom, but he was incredibly grateful nonetheless.

He slid his hand over hers, stilling it before she could pour another shot – her fourth, by his calculations. “You don’t need another drink,” he told her softly. “And definitely not because of what you just told me. You’re right, you know. ADHD is absolutely not a big deal, and never anything to be ashamed of. And you certainly seemed to have learned how to cope with it. You’re at UCLA, and I know their film program is one of the toughest in the world to get into. Plus, I’ve only known you for a few days, sweetheart, but I already know you’re the smartest, bravest, and toughest person I’ve ever met. Not to mention,” he murmured, scooping her onto his lap, “the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Lauren snickered, wrapping her arms around his neck and snuggling in close. “You forgot sexy. And funny. And definitely,” she added, her tongue circling his ear teasingly, “the best fuck you’ve ever had.”

He kissed her gently, his tongue exploring her mouth with slow, thorough licks. “You’re way, way more to me than just a casual fuck,” he whispered. “And you know it. What we’ve had – there’s nothing casual or cheap about it. You’re the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known, Lauren – in and out of bed.”

She smiled then, wriggling her tempting little ass against his rapidly hardening cock. “Well, duh. But, you know, I’ve had to work very hard at being amazing, and it’s always been a struggle.”

He stroked her tumbled curls comfortingly. “How old were you when you were diagnosed?”

“Five. But I’d imagine it was pretty apparent well before then to everyone around me. I was the ultimate wild child – climbing trees, jumping on the furniture, always getting into mischief. I’m sure I drove my parents crazy – especially since Julia was a little angel. She’d be having tea parties with her dolls and teddy bears, or looking at a picture book, while I’d be outside digging up worms or wrestling with one of the dogs.”