Free Going Down by Vonna Harper

like to ask you something,” he said just when she’d reconciled herself to his silence. “The way you make your living, the way you handle your sexuality, have you ever wished it was different?”
    â€œDifferent? How?”
    â€œNow you’re the one answering a question with one.”
    â€œIf I am, it’s because I don’t know where this is going.”
    He wanted to touch her. Damn it, she felt the wanting throughout his body. But maybe he knew he risked a knee to his gonads if she so much as thought he was jumping her.
    â€œIs that sex drive you told me about something you can turn on or off depending on the situation? It more than comes in handy at work, but if the situation calls for the opposite, can you plug into nun mode?”
    â€œWhy do you want to know?”
    â€œHumor me.”
    Hell, no, this wasn’t about humoring him. She didn’t owe him anything, damn it. A thank-you for the meal and cruise was all that was called for, and just because she’d thought he was genuinely interested in her family story didn’t mean she was expected to dump everything, right?
    Right, yes. And yet—
    â€œTo rehash,” she said with her senses reaching out for him and her sex heating. “I matured early sexually. By the time I was eleven I needed a bra, but it was more than just my body developing curves. Even before the bra went on, I wanted something I couldn’t put words to. It was as if I’d put my finger into a light socket.” She paused, debated, plunged ahead. “My mother caught me masturbating when I was ten, but instead of jumping down my throat, she sat next to me and helped me explore why I needed to handle myself that way. Her acceptance allowed me to be free.”
    She glanced down at her legs, then into his eyes again. “If I have any sexual hang-ups, I’m not aware of them. As long as it’s safe and fun and legal, I’ll explore it. If my parents had disapproved, I would have taken my needs underground, but they’d still exist. Now, does that answer your question?”
    Instead of the yes or no she expected, he leaned toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You had incredible parents. Wise. So wise.”
    What was that note, envy? Sorrow maybe?
    Fighting her reaction to the pressure on her shoulders, she ran her hands along his side. “Yours weren’t like that?”
    â€œDoesn’t matter.”
    â€œWhat? I—”
    â€œI mean it. I’m not going there.”
    On the brink of pushing his limits, she reconsidered. He didn’t want to bring up the past; only a dead woman wouldn’t understand that and she was far from dead. Neither did he want to deal with an ignorant “I’m sorry.”
    â€œAll right, for now,” she whispered.
    The tide rocked them, pushing them to the left and then the right, forcing her to widen her stance to keep her balance and increasing her hold on him. In the distance a foghorn wailed its lonely cry. The warm breeze stroked her cheeks, throat, arms, and legs.
    And then his legs brushed hers.
    Ah shit, gone. Just like that, lost.
    Arching her back, she ran her breasts over his rib cage. His hold on her shoulders tightened, and the message couldn’t have been any clearer. Whatever he wanted of her, he could get; he was that much stronger.
    Didn’t matter.
    Because she wanted the same thing.
    With her breasts still pressed against him, she slid her hands down and around so she could cup his buttocks. At the same time, she moved closer and tilted her pelvis at him. On a hissed breath, he released her shoulders but only so he could spread his much-larger hands over her ass cheeks.
    Yes, his cock, grinding against her belly with a message she’d heeded for as long as she could remember. Depending on what was called for at work, at times like this she’d either call up memories of all the cocks she’d encountered or