Page 76 of The True Garza

He’s watching me with a strange expression. “Milk.”

I whip up the shake and hand it to him so he can refuel. Then round the counter with my plate of poor-man’s breakfast and sit on the stool next to him.

After downing several mouthfuls to appease my grumbling stomach, I ask, “Are you screwing the woman from the house at the cul-de-sac?”

He hikes a brow at me. “You saw her?”

“Yeah. When I went outside to get my bag from the SUV.” I take a sip of coffee. “I gave her the finger.”

He chokes on his shake. “You did what?”

“She kept staring at me. It was rude. Shouldn’t she be used to seeing women streaming in and out of here?”

He asks, “You’ve never seen her before?”

“I thought so. But I couldn’t place her.” Another sip of coffee. “So, are you screwing her?”

Instead of answering, he jerks his chin downward and asks, “What did I say about wearing jeans?”

Mouth full, I glance down at my jeans. “You’ve met me, right? Jeans, slacks, and sweats are what I wear. The dresses I wore to the meetings were bought specifically for that purpose.”On your card.

“Take them off.”

“What?”

“Jeans. Take them off.”

“I’m not—”

“Off.”

Jeez, why does he have to be so hot when he’s bossy? And why does my body have to be so annoyingly submissive around his?

Ever the weakling, I set the fork down, straighten from the stool, pop the button on my jeans, lower the zipper, then shimmy out of them. “Will you answer my question now?”

“Sit.”

I sit. And, because I know he’ll order me to, spread my legs.

An erection growing behind his running shorts, he casually drinks his shake, while drinking in the spot between my thighs with just his eyes.

He’s not going to answer me. Of course he’s not. Didn’t he flat-out tell me“I’m not yours”last night?It doesn’t get any clearer than that. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s honest. Even if his honesty hurts.

Do I have low self-esteem? No. Am I settling? No. I’ve just never been so on fire, so intensely sexually attracted to anyone, ever. Nor have I ever been more sexually satisfied, through and through. True justknowswhat I need and gives it to me without my having to instruct him. So I’mchoosingto take what I can get until I’m sated.

Will it drive me insane that I’m not the only one he’s giving brain-frying orgasms to? Yes. But it is what it is. It’s not as if I’d want a real relationship with him, anyway; he doesn’t seem capable. Some men are meant for this. To give you mind-blowing sexual experiences that you’ll never forget. That you’ll think about when you’re with your future husband. And that’s True. He’s not husband material. He’s the ‘best sex of your life’ guy. And no one ever marries the ‘best sex of your life’ guy.

When I’m ready for a real, committed relationship, I’ll have Brook work her matchmaking magic and set me up with someone decent.

“Shift your panties,” he tells me as he sets the half-empty glass of protein shake on the counter.

A surge of heat rushing to my clit, I promptly abandon the coffee I was about to sip and shift my sheer panties aside.

He shoves his sports shorts and boxers down his hips, his beautiful cock springing free.Shit yes. How I’ve longed for this all morning.

Those long, strong fingers wrap around his girth, fisting, squeezing, stroking himself. I hold on to the side of the stool for stability and spread my legs wider, so he can see all of me, see my arousal coating my lips.

Cursing under his breath, he lets go of himself and holds out his palm. “Lick.”