Escaping Reality

you?”
    The questions shatters a little part of me not even fully realized. This
    is not a reaction a girl wants when touching a man. “Why does that
    matter?”
    “How old, Amy?”
    “Twenty-four.” I don’t even know why I answer. I shouldn’t have
    answered.
    “How many men have you fucked?”
    I gasp. “You can’t ask me that.”
    “I just did. How many?”
    I don’t like where this has gone. I don’t like how I suddenly don’t
    know if he thinks I’m a virgin for my limited experience or a hussy for my
    fast actions. Either way, this is not an escape anymore. I try to shove away
    from him, but his grip in my hair doesn’t loosen. “Let go,” I hiss.
    “This was a mistake. I don’t know you. I don’t do this kind of thing.”
    Great. Now he thinks I’m a virgin. I can’t get this right. “I mean, I do. No. I
    don’t. I don’t do this kind of thing.”
    “It’s quite clear you do not do this kind of thing,” he says, releasing
    me, and I hate how much I wish he had not, after what he has made me
    feel. Or how relieved I am when he plants his hands by my head, caging me
    as if he doesn’t want me to escape. “But I do, Amy. I do this kind of thing. I
    have short, quick, well-protected affairs with women who get that I’m not
    going to be around tomorrow. Women who do not care enough about who
    I am to find out my name or how much money I have.”
    My defenses flare, verging on anger. What is he accusing me of?
    Being a virgin, a slut, or a money-grubber? “I didn’t try to find out about
    you. You made me read the Wiki page. You made me.”
    “I know. I wanted you to know me and to trust me. I still do.”
    I soften, confused. I stay confused with this man. “I don’t understand.
    You just said…and I know and…why are you, and I and…” My God, I’m an
    educated woman and I’ve lost the ability to form coherent sentences.
    “The same reason I showed you my design on the plane.”
    “Which is why?”
    “Because against every rule I have ever set, I wanted to.”
    “I don’t know what that means.”
    “Then let me be more clear.” His cheek slides over mine, his whiskers
    scraping erotically over my delicate skin, his lips pressing to my ear. “You’re
    a beautiful woman who deserves to be properly fucked, which I conclude
    from both your actions and answers to my questions, that you have not
    been. I want to be the man to remedy that. I want it very much.” His arm
    wraps my waist, shackling me to him as if he fears I will get away, his free
    hand stroking down my hair, as he huskily adds, “Probably too much.” He
    moves then, his intense blue eyes staring down at me, searching my eyes. “I
    don’t know what you’re running from, but I know you’re running.”
    My heart jackhammers. “No, I’m not. I’m not.”
    He brushes his lips over mine. “And I’m not asking you to tell me
    why,” he says, rejecting my denial. “But just know that I have every
    intention of making you forget everything but what it feels like to have my
    tongue and my cock buried inside you.”
    My lashes lower and heat pools low in my belly, then settles hard
    between my thighs.
    I’ve never even had a man use the word “fuck” with me before, let
    alone promise to fuck me properly, but I fear he will make me forget why
    my silence is golden. “I don’t—”
    “Look at me, Amy.” There is a command in his voice and for reasons I
    cannot explain, I am compelled to comply. My gaze lifts to his. “I do,” he
    promises. “And I like the idea that I am the man who’ll make sure you do,
    too.”
    He’ll make sure I know . This is exactly everything I need to hear. He’s
    promised to be demanding and to take me to unknown territory, but that I
    won’t be there in the dark. I am so very tired of being in the dark. I wrap my
    arms around his neck and make sure he knows how important this is to me.
    “I want to know. I need to know.”
    Approval seeps into his eyes, heat simmering in their depths, and one
    of his strong hands cradles my face, and then his mouth is lowering to
    mine. His tongue licks into mine, tasting me, and he is different now, we are
    different now. The kiss is hotter, wilder, passion unleashed, and I have a
    sense of being claimed. Like I am his to take and I want to be taken by this
    man. I want it very much.
    Still kissing me, as if he too cannot get enough of me as I cannot of
    him, he lifts me off the ground, his hands cradling my backside. My