I angle my whole body in his direction, pointing at him. “That right there is how you ruin it. By saying rude, vulgar things.”
“It’s called innuendo.”
“It’s called turning everything dirty, even when it’s unnecessary.”
We come to a stop at a light and he turns to look at me, his gaze narrowed. “What’s wrong with turning things dirty? I thought you liked it dirty.”
My brows shoot up. “How do you know I like anything dirty?”
He studies me, his gaze so intense, I almost start to squirm in my seat. “I get the feeling you like a lot of dirty things, G. It just makes you uncomfortable to talk about them because you want to do those dirty things. With me.”
I’m about to deny what he just said but the light turns green and he presses hard on the gas. So hard, my chest jerks against the seatbelt. My curiosity piqued, I ask, “What sort of dirty things do you like?”
“I asked you first,” he says.
“Nope. You definitely did not,” I say firmly. “Tell me, Caleb. I want to know.”
“Okay. I love it when a girl gives me a blow job on her knees and makes eye contact when my dick is in her mouth,” he says, so casually while I’m over here sputtering.
Envisioning some other bimbo on her knees in front of Caleb with her mouth full of his cock. Yeah, no.
“I love it when a guy goes down on me,” I throw back at him, trying to scrub the image of Caleb with another girl from my brain. “I like it when he sucks my clit and finger fucks me at the same time.”
“Whoa, G!” He actually sounds shocked.
“TMI?” I giggle. And I never giggle.
“Keep going. I like TMI.”
I roll my eyes. “You would.”
“I like it when a girl sits on my face,” he says.
“I like sitting on guys’ faces.”
“I like fucking standing up. Girl pressed against the wall, her legs wrapped tight around my hips. Something about that angle.” He hums, and the sound hits me right between the thighs.
My skin warms at the description. No guy has ever fucked me against a wall. Caleb could support my weight. He’s strong. The muscles in his arms are a work of art. “I just like getting fucked.”
He laughs. “Gracie. You should drink tequila more often. It’s like truth serum.”
“You just want me to blab all my secrets.”
“Definitely,” he says without hesitation. “I do have one major question for you.”
“What is it?” I roll the window down, letting the warm night air flow into the car.
But it’s still too damn hot outside so I immediately roll the window back up.
“How many?”
“How many what?” I glance over at him.
“How many guys have you been with, G?”
“How many girls have you been with, C?” I throw back at him.
“I asked first.”
Damn it, he really did this time.
I sit there and calculate, silently counting them up in my head. “Actual sex partners?”
I need some clarification here.
“Yeah. Guys you’ve had sex with,” he reaffirms.
“Penetrative or just messing around?”
He chuckles. “Let’s go for the whole enchilada. Penetration only. Does that change the number drastically?”
I say nothing because it does.
“It does for me,” he continues.
“Oh, so you’ve had sex with guys?” I’m teasing him.
“No, I don’t swing that way,” he says. “What about you? You ever mess around with girls?”
“Hayden and I made out once,” I tell him, immediately hating how honest tequila makes me.
His eyes look like they’re ready to bug out of his head. “That would’ve been a sight to see.”
“Picture it. Freshman year. Frat party. Hayden and I get super drunk. Some frat boys are playing truth or dare, and we join them. Hayden took the dare, and they dared us to kiss. With open mouths and tongues. We were drunk enough that we did exactly that.” I start giggling all over again when I see the wondrous expression on Caleb’s face.
“Does Tony know about this?” Caleb asks, clearing his throat. “Uh…interaction between you two?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Hayden told him. Maybe not.” I shrug.
“How was it?” he asks.
“How was what?”
“Kissing Hayden?”
“Oh. Nice. Soft. Girls are softer.” I laugh because I know I’m torturing him. “You like soft kisses, Caleb?”
“I’m not much of a kisser.” He pulls into our apartment parking lot, and I’m a little disappointed. I was so enjoying this crazy conversation.
“Wait a minute.” I turn to look at him as he steers the car into an empty spot. “You don’t like kissing?”
“I like it, but I said I’m not much of a kisser. Kissing is…” He stops, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Kissing is what?” I prompt.
“So personal.” He puts the vehicle in park and cuts the engine before his gaze finds mine. “Girls read too much into kissing.”
“Caleb.” My voice is soft and he leans in a little, as if he needs to hear what I’m about to say. “Kissing is the absolute best. Why would you avoid it?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, uncomfortable. “Like I said, it’s personal. I make out with a girl, next thing I know she thinks she should start planning our wedding.”
“Your ego is ginormous,” I tell him without hesitation.
“I know. But fuck, G. It’s true. I’m not looking to fall in love. I’m looking to get off. And kissing a girl is—romantic.” He makes a face the moment the word leaves his lips.
“You’re not a romantic?” I already know this about him. I’m just giving him grief.
“Hell to the no.”
“So you don’t like kissing?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I just don’t do it much,” he corrects.
I’m suddenly filled with the urge to kiss him. He has a beautiful mouth. Big, pillowy lips. His lower lip is plumper than the upper one, and they kind of form a natural pout that is so adorable.
Adorably kissable.
“That should be outlawed,” I say with absolute conviction.
“What, kissing?”
I shake my head. “Not kissing. People should kiss! It’s the best thing. I love kissing a man. Tongues and lips and sighs and moans.” A sigh leaves me as I sink into the seat, trying to come up with the memory of a really good, delicious kiss, but I’m drawing a blank. All I can focus on is Caleb’s lips and what they might taste like. “When you kiss someone for the first time and a thrill ripples through you as you learn each other. Don’t you want to know what a girl tastes like?”
“This conversation is getting stranger and stranger,” he says, avoiding my question.
I lightly smack his arm, my fingers grazing his bare skin. He’s firm and warm and solid as a damn rock. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
He studies me, sliding his tongue along his lower lip slowly, like he’s assessing me as his next meal. It’s sexy. Even with his confession that he doesn’t kiss much, I am tempted to do exactly that. Kiss him. Taste him. Nibble his lower lip. Suck on his tongue. Whatever.