Give Me a Taste
“You’re not ready for the kind of pass I’d make at you.”
“I beg your pardon?” I’d had similar discussions with a few male acquaintances but this was a new rhetorical move.
He shrugged. “You’re not ready. Not tonight.”
“Don’t patronize me.” Why did guys always think they knew more about what I was ready for than I did?
We had reached his villa. His nostrils flared. “Never mind. I don’t need this.” He spun on his heel and disappeared into the building, leaving me standing on the path. The door clicked shut.
“No. Uh-uh.” I’d had it with this bullshit. I marched up to the door and rapped on it with my knuckles. I kept hitting it until he flung the door open and glowered at me from the stoop, framed beneath the heavy stone lintel. I stuck out my chin. “Out with it. You have something you want to say? A move you want to make? Bring it.”
He stared at me for the space of three breaths. Then he stepped forward. His arm snaked up, his palm clasping my nape and tugging me to him. His mouth covered mine.