by Liv Morris
“Well, Dr. Kathryn, I’m not sure how I can help with that subject. But okay, shoot away.” I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.
“When I look around this room, I see women watching you and our exchange. Some looking sad, others looking envious. I’m curious to know how many of them you’ve slept with?” She stares at me with a serious look on her face. She doesn’t blink or look away. It’s then I realize she really wants me to answer her. Throw out a number. Fuck. I’m not sure how to respond or even count up the tally, so I decide to try a little humor.
“Somewhere between one and all of them?” She rolls her eyes to the side, not satisfied with my answer, but I’m not finished yet either.
“Honestly, I’d like to say you, just you.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “That you’re the only one I’ve fucked in this room.” Kathryn appears a little surprised by my answer but then laughs, and I join her. I think she realizes I’m teasing her. But what I said might be partially true because no other woman in this room appeals to me like she does.
“They were right to warn me.” Her mood shifts. Gone are her smiles. “Men like you will never understand what a woman really needs.”
“Is that right? So you’re an expert on me now. My judge and jury.” I cross my arms over my chest as my temper starts to rise.
“Oh dear. I think I’ve touched a nerve,” she says while throwing her head back and laughing at me. Quite frankly, I’m not amused. “Yes, Mr. Kingsley, I’m an expert of sorts.”
“Care to explain?” My tone’s short with her as I’m still a bit pissed.
“It would be my pleasure.” She winks at me and I’m feeling conflicted. Do I really want to know what she’s an expert at? Who am I kidding? Of course I do.
“I'm a specialist at taking boys like yourself and turning them into real men. I've never failed. Not once. At least that’s what their wives and girlfriends say."
"So, what have you never failed at, in more specific terms?" I’m hoping she takes the bait and gives me the details of her exploits, as this woman confounds and frustrates me.
She brings her free hand up to my chest and runs her delicate fingers under the lapel of my Armani tux. My arms fall to my side as I feel her grasping my jacket and gently pulling my upper body down toward her, bringing our faces cheek to cheek. Her soft lips brush lightly against my ear.
"I take cocky, rich boys like you and teach them how to make love to women until they're barely able to mutter a word. Completely and utterly blissed. That's really what separates the men from the boys, Mr. Kingsley. Sex as an art form versus fucking for a release.”
I find myself unable to respond, completely tongue-tied. Something I’m not used to experiencing. I always have a slick comeback. Always. I see fire in her eyes and notice her lips starting to move again, and good God, I realize she’s not done with me yet.
“You see, Mr. Kingsley, when I said you were a pretty billionaire boy I meant every damn word. You’re very pretty indeed, striking really, but still just a boy.”
Find the rest of Adam’s Apple here: http://amzn.to/1jBqIbW
