by Jill Monroe
Ava gasped when he proceeded to X out one of her favorite sections.
“This whole section should go. It’s dry and boring.”
She shook her head. “It is not. Certainly the Bogani people whose culture you just obliterated from the page didn’t think so.”
Ian picked up the page. “‘In ancient times, as now, in isolated communities in the mountainous region of Bogan, the men eligible to leave their mothers and fathers were gathered together in the village square where everyone dropped their heads and snored because these paragraphs would put anyone to sleep, even a boy about to lose his virginity.’”
She took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s a tad uninspired.”
He looked up from the page. “Uninspired? Ava, when we’re talking about sex, the last thing it should ever be is uninspired.”
Ava dropped her gaze. She’d acknowledge that he had a point about her writing, but not that the section needed to go. She’d sat silent for too long, and it was time for Ian to do a little compromising. “Okay, let’s rewrite that portion.”
Ian raised a brow. “We’re not targeting virgins or even near-virgins with this book.”
“Come on, Ian. You mean somewhere along the line, you wouldn’t have wanted some older, experienced woman to show you the ropes in bed?”
“Well, it’s been a long time since I was inexp—”
Ava rolled her eyes. “Oh, spare me that. Even when you know your way around the bedroom, when you’re with a new person there are still nerves involved. Premature ej—”
“Not an issue,” he said quickly.
“You mean, you’ve never had your skyrocket in flight long before hers?”
He swallowed. His skin reddened a bit. “My technique might not have been always airtight when I first started, but now…”
“My point exactly. Readers with a wide range of experiences will be reading this book.” She refrained from rolling her eyes again. Male pride on prowess in the bedroom also seemed to be pretty universal. Here it seemed to manifest itself by preferring to fumble around in the dark rather than acknowledge suggestions.
“I know you said the other day that men don’t give other men tips to score, but surely a man would take advice from a woman.”
Ian crossed his arms across his chest, his expression confident. Overconfident. “Okay, shoot me a pointer.”
She was up for the challenge. “Hmm. The first thing a Bogani woman shows the young lover is how to pleasure a woman using only his fingers.”
“Of course she does.” He made a scoffing sound, but his eyes narrowed in interest.
“A woman can be pretty forgiving of three-pumps-and-he’s-done if she’s already had at least one orgasm. Something to keep in mind if a man wants to be invited back to the bedroom for a repeat performance.”
That overconfident expression he’d worn slipped a little. “Maybe you do have a point about this section.”
Oh, yeah, she’d show him. Reaching for her remote, she turned on her stereo and selected music from the Bogani region. Her apartment was soon filled with the sounds of drums. Primal. Like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat.
Then she reached and took that hateful red pen from his fingers and dropped it to the floor. “The Bogani are a close-knit, family-oriented culture.”
He mouthed the word boring. So she reached for the thick stack of pages comprising her printed manuscript. “Obviously you can improve upon my writing, but you need to actually experience this to truly understand what I’m trying to convey.”
He cocked his head. A study in disbelief.
“I wouldn’t have understood a singles bar until I experienced it.”
Ian let her tug the papers from his hand easily. “I’ve already crossed this section out.”
“I’m putting it right back in. The way the Bogani men learn to pleasure a woman will not only be helpful to less experienced men who might be reading the book, but could also be a fun role play. Dual purpose.”
“Role play?” he asked. “Now that’s some inspiration.” His eyes let her know he was more than curious about her next move.
That next move led to her couch.
“You won’t need your laptop, either,” she told him as she reached for his hand and drew him away from the kitchen table he’d commandeered for the butchering of her masterpiece.
“The Bogani people frown on couples separating, and believe pleasure in the marriage bed makes for a happy union,” Ava told him as she tugged him into her front room.
“Sometimes not even that can save a marriage.”
Mr. Cynicism was back. Good. She liked demonstrating her techniques to him best. Made it all the sweeter when her point was successfully proven. “True, but it’s never a reason for a breakup. That’s where the widows come in. Some say they make the bed play work. Plus they’re going to save this section from your red pen. And this time, it won’t be dull.”
“Been giving this some thought?”
“Actually it just came to me. Sit.”
Ian made himself comfortable against the cushions of her couch while she kicked off her sandals.
“When a man has proven he can support himself and leave his parents, he’s also free to be chosen by one of the widows to show him how to pleasure a woman,” she sat beside him on the couch, his jeans-clad thigh brushing along her bare skin.
“She’d have to choose the man she’d tutor carefully, for he’d pay a yearly tribute to her until his death. It’s actually a nice little social system. It ensures that women without protectors are provided for, while potentially removing one of the major barriers to marital happiness.”
“Are there jealousies?”
Ava shook her head. “No. Once he marries, he and the widow don’t see one another again. If the widow has done her job well, the wife has nothing but praise for her. Bogani place high importance on monogamy. Although the widow walks a fine line. She knows she’s there as a teacher, and strives to make the process without intimacy.”
“How does she do that?” he asked.
“By never making eye contact. By never talking about anything other than how to pleasure his future wife. Every touch, every caress, every new sensation is all encased in the future.”
Ava deliberately lowered her gaze. Now she’d show him how lovers could role-play the Bogani teaching times.
“Boys and girls were usually separated from one another, learning the skills needed to keep their tribe thriving, so when they eventually make it back together, there’s a lot of curiosity and shyness. So the first thing the widow teacher would do would be to make him feel comfortable with a woman’s body. Receiving her touch and giving his. That first meeting he’d usually only stroke her.”
Without looking up, she lifted his hands to the bare skin of her shoulder. He was warm and solid, and even with the barest of touches, not pulling off the inexperienced young man illusion very well.
“She’d instruct him how to run his fingers gently along her exposed skin. Softly caressing all the erogenous zones on a woman. Her neck. Her ears. How to sink his fingers into her hair, stroke her scalp. A lot of this can be missed in today’s rushed lovemaking.”
Ian followed her instructions perfectly. Deliciously. Her skin grew warm under his fingertips, achy for more of his touch. With shaky knees, Ava stood, still not meeting his eyes.
“Then she’d lead him to the small of her back. With even the lightest pressure there, the muscles loosen and it feels so good.”
She sucked in a breath when Ian’s fingers eased the tension that had gathered in that spot after seeing her book covered in red.
“The more relaxed a woman is, the easier her blood is flowing through her veins, the quicker it is for her to reach her peak.”
“Are you feeling relaxed, Ava?”
Like jelly.
Ava wanted to raise her gaze. To see into his eyes. To gauge his expression, and see if it matched the husky aroused sound of his voice. But she didn’t. That’s what made this
experience so unique, so intense and yet slightly detached. Western cultures placed a lot of emphasis on meeting another’s eyes. By not, the whole dynamic between two people completely changes.
Like now.
“He could slide his hands down. The skin behind the knee is very sensitive. Or she may suggest he find her inner elbow with his mouth.”
Ian did both. The warmth of his tongue was a purely erotic sensation against her skin. Detached? Who was she kidding? She felt fully engaged.
“When does he kiss her?” he asked, his voice rough and low and sexy as hell. Ian had even added a move of his own, gently blowing against the bare skin of her stomach, the warmth making her tingle.
“He doesn’t,” she said, her voice sounding close to a moan. He tugged her closer toward him and his tongue began to wind a lazy path along her collarbone and slowly moved to below her ear.
Ava was losing the upper hand. She needed to stay focused. Fall back on research.
“You know there are many cultures that never kiss, the Inuit in Alaska being the most well-known. Across the world from the Americas, the Pacific areas and Africa, we find many people that never touched lip to lip. Although researchers documented the kiss first in India, dating it as far back as 1500 BCE.”
His hands curved around her hips and drew her still nearer to the heat of his body. She lost her balance and landed in his lap. Startled, she finally met his eyes. Dark brown and full of intense heat and hunger. Intimate.
“Good thing that no-kissing rule doesn’t extend to my culture.” Then Ian lowered his head, his lips on hers. Heaven. His lips were firm and something elemental exploded inside her.
She wanted more, but Ian broke off the kiss. He smoothed the sweep of her hair over her shoulder and kissed her neck. Licking that place below her ear.
“This is not what we’re supposed to be doing here. The Bogani women are always in control and would never allow the man to take over like this.”
“Oh, yeah?” He nipped her earlobe. “Tell me what else we’re not supposed to be doing.”
Her fingers traveled up his to grasp the muscles of his shoulder. Then she sank her fingers into the hair at his neck. She’d loved the feeling of his hand stroking her scalp. Loved hearing his breath quicken when she did the same.
“I shouldn’t be on your lap like this.” His thighs hardened beneath her.
“Maybe you shouldn’t press your breasts against my chest. I’d hate that.”
Her nipples drew taut, the sheer fabric not hiding her body’s response to his words. Ava flattened herself against him, and he groaned.
“A Bogani widow would spend a whole day teaching a man how to touch a woman’s breasts. To caress and stroke and finally lick.”
“I don’t know if I could last a whole day,” he said next to her throat. His hand moved to cup her breast, his thumb finding and circling her nipple.
She cried out at the hot pleasure of his touch. “I have faith in you.”
“Glad someone does,” he said as his lips claimed hers once more.
This was no playful, teasing kiss. Ian almost growled when she touched her tongue to his. She hadn’t expected the near-instant sexual connection she’d have with Ian to be so strong. So primal.
But sometimes that’s what you got, and it was a rare, precious thing, so why not go for it? His fingers dipped for the ties holding the Hidali costume in place. “I had about a million reasons in my mind why we shouldn’t have sex.” His whispered words sent a thrill through her veins.
“Me, too.”
His gaze sharpened. “You did? You’ve been thinking about having sex with me, but discounted it?”
She blinked up at him, missing the heat that was now fading in his eyes. “Sure. I want you. DNA programming. I found you attractive the moment you spoke.”
His eyes narrowed. “So, it’s just biology? Has nothing to do with me…personally.”
“That’s right. Sex is a normal, natural part of life. If I’ve observed anything since I’ve been back, it’s that people seem to make such a big deal about doing the deed,” she said with a shrug.
He didn’t respond for a moment, as if he were considering her words carefully. “Well, if it’s just sex, a totally biological function, then let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
A dark flame lit in his brown eyes. “Let’s have sex. Right here. We don’t even have to break out the paints. Just you, me and that rumble-drum music.”
She tightened her arms around him. “Sure.”
Ian made a strange sound in the back of his throat. “I know you’ve been away for a while, and so have I for that matter, but usually women aren’t so…so…”
“So what?”
“So okay with just being biological.”
“What do you mean?”
He gently pushed her out of his lap and stood. “We’re missing the game playing, the pretending. Me trying to ramp up the action. You countering with a token denial.”
“And that’s what you want?”
He began to pace. “No, but it’s what I’m used to.”
“Ian, look. I don’t know what to say. Obviously my experience level with dating normal people isn’t very high, but it seems to me most problems between a man and woman could be cleared up with one good sit-down conversation.”
He stopped his pacing and faced her. “You’re right.”
“I don’t want to give you a token denial, but the truth of the matter is I didn’t really act on my attraction to you because this…this tension between us, this heat, I think it will translate on the page of the book. We could get…biological now. I have these great oils I’d love to try—they’re all the way from Bolivia. Or we could work on the book and wait.”
Strange how at that precise moment the intensity of the drum music lessoned. Near silence descended upon them as she waited for his decision.
Ian sank against the cushions of her couch. His breath came out in sharp frustrated exhalations. Then his gaze cut to hers.
“You have a natural instinct for picking customs that would be interesting and instructional to today’s lovers. But you’re terrible at choosing chapter titles and you bog down the flow with too much history.”
“I won’t be left out of the writing.”
“I don’t plan to cut you out. Before, when you told me of the Bogani women, that was exciting. That was different, and that’s what people would want to read about. When you tell me about these people, their beliefs, you make them come alive. Seem like living, breathing people that anyone can relate to, can swap lives with, even for just an evening. That’s what this book needs.”
She glanced down at the manuscript pages covered with his red scribbles. “Obviously I’m not very good at putting my thoughts on paper.”
“That’s where I come in. I’m going to interview you. Every ceremony, every food, every dance you’ll share with me. Together we’ll get this book written.”
She nodded, liking the idea. “I think that could really work.”
Ian stood, reaching for all the papers of her manuscript and stuffing them into the empty space in his laptop bag. “We won’t be needing these. We’ll start from scratch tomorrow, when we’re fresh.”
Ava followed him to the door. She leaned against the wall after he left, picking at a bead on her bodice.
Ian had chosen the book over making love to her.
She would ignore that let-down feeling.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AVA GREETED HIM WEARING jeans and a light gray hoodie. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail, and Ian realized he liked this casual Ava. Hell, he just liked looking at the woman.
Today they’d be working on the chapter on scents. With that damn cinnamon, Ava had made him a believer that a man did respond on an elemental level. At least in a small way. But he wouldn’t be lying if he said he’d been looking forward to this day of writing as a relief from the sexual tension brewing between them. Just how out of his mind would he ge
t from smelling a few vials?
She smiled when she spotted his laptop case. “Don’t you think we should experience this together before writing about it?”
“I like to be prepared.”
“I’ll remember that about you,” she said with a wink.
She was doing it again. Turning his innocent comments into something that sounded like a double entendre. As if he was prepared for sex with a condom all at the ready. Or maybe that was in his own mind. She spent most of her life out of the country—did she even know what she seemed to be implying? He was going crazy.
“I’ve set everything up in the front room.”
He’d expected vials and incense and containers of oil. Cotton swabs to capture the scents. What he hadn’t prepared for was the scene she’d set up. Ava had been very industrious, pushing back the couches and making a pallet on the floor with colorful blankets, no doubt weaved on the bare thighs of women preparing for sex or some such story designed to push him over the edge.
Two large pillows, presumably where he was supposed to sit, were surrounded by lit candles.
Holy hell.
She reached for his hand. “Take off your shoes and come with me,” her voice an invitation to be wicked.
Her soft fingers tightened around his after he’d kicked off his shoes, and she led him to the pillows, reclining on the one facing him.
“These candles are unscented so they won’t mask the smells we’re trying to explore, but set a nice mood. Rather than just list the fragrances that the opposite sex finds attractive, I thought it would be far more interesting to dab the oils on our bodies.”
Of course she’d have that idea. Ava Simms had lots of great ideas on how to torture him sexually.
“Are we talking pheromones?”
She shook her head. “As subconscious sex attractants, nothing can beat them, but it’s thought that only eighty percent of humans have the organ to even sense them. Some researchers think even less can detect pheromones due to disuse. Those odds are terrible. Why leave something like that to chance?”
