The Sex Diet Page 7

  Hank detected a slight quiver in her bottom lip before she sank her teeth into it. She blinked innocently. “Oh? And what sort of vibe would that be?”

  “A come-pump-me vibe,” he said, annoyed.

  “Good,” she told him, rocking back on her heels in obvious delight. That wicked glint he noticed earlier gleamed particularly bright. “That’s precisely the kind of vibe I’ve been hoping to send out.”

  Hank pulled in a deep breath through his nostrils in a vain attempt to stay calm. So it was as he’d suspected. She was looking for a lover—and she wasn’t looking at him.

  A dull throb commenced at the base of his skull. “What do you mean, good?”

  “Precisely what I said. Good.”

  “Why is it good?” Hank asked and resisted the urge to grind his teeth.

  She cast him a sidelong glance. “I would have thought the condoms in my bag would have tipped you off.”

  “Cute, but humor me,” Hank replied tightly.

  “Fine. It’s good,” she said patiently, “because in order to get what I want, that’s exactly the type of vibe I need to send out.”

  The throb bisected his skull and settled between his eyes. “And what exactly is it that you want?” He had to push the words from his cottony mouth. He knew what she wanted, but for some wholly sadistic reason, he wanted to hear her say it.

  She winced. “You’re not going to like it, Hank. But I’m glad that you asked because it makes it easier for me to tell you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Because after I tell you, I expect you to butt out.”

  “Then tell me.”

  She shrugged lightly and an evil little gleam danced in her pale green eyes. “Fine. I want an orgasm.”

  6

  HE SWALLOWED. REPEATEDLY. “An orgasm?”

  Sam nodded succinctly. “An orgasm.”

  He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

  “Is this what you needed to talk to me about?”

  Samantha inclined her head. “It plays a significant part, yes.”

  “How so?”

  Samantha hesitated. So far, so good. But now came the tricky part. She’d been fully prepared to lay into him over being such an obnoxious ass out by the pool, but her ire had ebbed through dinner and had fled completely when he’d glibly announced that she was gorgeous. Samantha swallowed tightly. No one had ever told her she was pretty, or attractive, not even her parents. She’d always been such a sweet girl or such a nice girl. Never beautiful, or pretty or even cute, for that matter.

  Hank—whose opinion she valued above all others—had called her gorgeous as though it were simply a given, had said it as casually as one might say, the sky is blue, or water is wet. Her heart had all but stopped and her chest tightened until she could barely draw a breath. She’d played it off, but she’d been quaking inside.

  Samantha would have thought that sharing her sexual inexperience would be heartily embarrassing, however, now that the time had come, the sensation she felt was more akin to relief. She’d made some good friends over the years in Aspen, one in particular she could comfortably bare her soul to.

  But, whether he knew it or not, Hank had always been her best friend, and getting this off her chest didn’t feel bizarre at all—it felt natural. Furthermore, God knows he’d never held back. Her lips curled with painful humor. He’d shared intimate details of his early sex life with her over the years. She’d pasted a smile on her face and listened, while inwardly her heart had been breaking.

  That had been uncomfortable.

  Hank didn’t want to think about her having sex or having an orgasm because he looked at her and she imagined he saw a little sister, not a person he was in love with. Well, he could just suck it up. This was part of being a friend. She’d been a good friend to him. He could damn well reciprocate the gesture.

  Samantha blew out a breath, absently buried her big toe in the sand. “Look, Hank, the long and short of it is…I’ve never had an orgasm. And I want one, dammit. It’s time.”

  Looking equally astounded and uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. “You’ve, uh, never…”

  “Had sex?” Samantha supplied helpfully.

  He paled.

  “Yes,” she told him with exaggerated patience. Honestly. “I’ve had sex. Once, many years ago.”

  His eyes widened. “But you never mentioned…you never said anything.”

  A droll smile curled her lips and she rolled her eyes. “Trust me, it didn’t bear mentioning. It was an unremarkable experience. I deserve better,” Samantha said matter-of-factly, “and I fully intend to have better. This week.” Samantha crossed her arms over her chest, ignored a prickle of irritation. “And I can’t do that if you’re running off every potential guy.” She softened her voice and laid a hand on his arm. “I know that you’re only looking out for me—you always have and I appreciate it—but I’m a big girl, Hank, and I’ve put a lot of effort into making myself attractive, making myself…desirable.” She huffed an exasperated breath, considered the truth of that statement. “Trust me, it’s not been easy. But, the effort seems to be paying off. I had a nice little cache of guys around me this afternoon—” her eyes narrowed “—until you came along and blew it. I’m asking you, as my friend, to cease and desist with the guerilla warfare tactics. I don’t have time for it and I know what I’m doing.”

  Hank grimly shook his head. “I don’t think you do.”

  “And you’re certainly entitled to your opinion,” she replied levelly. “However the ultimate decision is mine and I think that I do.”

  Hank blew out a frustrated breath, gestured wildly. His antics sent a throng of nearby seagulls squawking into the air. “So you’re just going to randomly pick a guy? Just snag one out of the crowd and have sex with him? Is that it?”

  Samantha nodded. “That’s the general plan.”

  “Well, that’s ignorant.”

  She blinked, taken aback. “I’m sorry?”

  “Undoubtedly you will be,” Hank said with an annoying snort of derision.

  “Hank,” Samantha warned, exasperated. “Just what the hell is the problem? What do you do when you want to get laid?”

  His mouth opened, then closed. Opened again. “Well, I—”

  “You find someone to seduce, that’s what you do,” Samantha supplied knowingly. “Why should it be any different for me? Why is it ignorant for me to do what I know you’ve done repeatedly?”

  He exhaled mightily, began to pace the wet sand back and forth in front of her. “Because I’m me and you’re you and…and it’s just not safe.”

  Samantha nodded succinctly. “That’s why I brought the condoms.”

  He stopped and glared at her and the sinking sun backlit him in a gorgeous display of orange, making him look like an avenging sea god. “It’s still not safe, dammit.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, being an orgasm virgin at twenty-six isn’t safe, either—safe for my mental health. I need— I want—” Samantha whimpered, groaned, threw her head back and emitted a frustrated growl low in her throat. “How do I make you understand?”

  Hank rubbed the back of his flushed neck, swallowed awkwardly. “It’s not that I don’t understand. Clearly—” he shot her a pained look “—you’re horny. I know what it’s like to be horny.” He looked heavenward and heaved a long-suffering sigh. “But there are…other ways of relieving sexual frustration than taking a lover,” he said haltingly, clearly desperate to change her mind.

  Samantha quirked a brow. “If you’re suggesting that I masturbate, then you can save your breath. I don’t want to masturbate,” she said stubbornly. “I want to have sex. With a man. And have an orgasm.”

  She heard his teeth grind. “So you’ve said.”

  “And I can’t do that if you keep sabotaging me. Enough already, Hank. Back off. Understood?”

  Hank finally nodded, blew out a breath. “So what does this mean? For the rest of the week you’re going to be trolling for a gu
y? You’re not going to have time for me?”

  Samantha gently shook her head, winced when a thorn of regret pricked her heart. “Not as much as I normally do, no. I need to do this, Hank. I want to know what the big deal is. I didn’t get anything out of the first time—nothing.” Samantha laughed darkly, shook her head. “It was horrible. Is it so awful that I want to know what good sex feels like? Is that so hard for you to understand?”

  “No, that’s not hard to understand.” His voice had developed a dry rasp. “But why did you have to do it here? Why now?” he asked suspiciously. “There’s more to this than you’re telling me, isn’t there?”

  “No,” Samantha lied, feeling the telltale heat of guilt climb her neck. Did he have to be so damned perceptive? God, he knew her too well. If he was having this much trouble accepting the fact that she wanted to get laid, he’d be truly horrified at the lengths she’d gone to. There was no way in hell she planned to tell him about the sex diet. He’d have a stroke.

  To Samantha’s immeasurable disquiet, he continued to study her intensely. “Furthermore, how are we supposed to get you prepped for this contest—and I know you can win—if you’re out combing the beaches for a man-whore?” He scowled. “I thought you said you wanted to move back here.”

  Though she took exception to the man-whore comment, Samantha bit her tongue and refrained from scorching his ears with a few hot expletives. “I do want to move back here,” she insisted. “We’ll still have time. Honestly, Hank. All I have to do is fry a chicken. It’s not rocket science.”

  He tsked skeptically. “Whatever you think.”

  Okay, enough of this, Samantha decided. A subject change was in order. “What was it you wanted to ask me about?”

  He gave her a blank look.

  “A few minutes ago,” she reminded him. “You said you wanted to ask me about something. What was it?”

  Those pale brows winged up his tanned forehead and he eventually murmured a knowing, “Oh.”

  “Oh…what?”

  Hank shook his head. “Forget it. It’s a moot point now.”

  What was a moot point? Samantha wondered, intrigued. “What?” she repeated.

  “Really, forget it,” Hank insisted mysteriously. He gave his head a small shake, and another humorless smile edged up the corner of his lips. “I couldn’t ask you now, anyway.”

  “Ask me what?”

  “Really, Samantha, forget it.” He grunted, laughed without humor. “You won’t have the time.”

  Samantha blew out a disgusted breath. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Hank,” she said, thoroughly exasperated. “I won’t have the time for what?”

  He shot her a sheepish look. “To help me.”

  She frowned. “Help you? Help you do what?”

  “Around the B&B.” He sighed wearily, pushed a hand through his hair. “Things are really hectic right now, and you’ve seen firsthand how well Tina can handle the front desk. I’m beat, can’t get caught up and, short of a clone, I’m not going to be able to.” He blew out a dejected breath. “Like I said, forget it. I’ll figure something out.”

  So that’s what all those little leading comments about him being worn-out and understaffed were about, Samantha realized with a belated start. He’d been fishing for an offer from her, and she’d been so concerned with her orgasm-quest that she hadn’t caught on.

  Samantha gazed at his woebegone expression and, though she firmly believed he’d manufactured it in order to manipulate her into helping him, she nonetheless couldn’t argue with the fine lines of fatigue etched around his mouth and eyes. He was right. She had seen how busy he’d been, how inept Tina was, and could tell by his face he was genuinely stressed. Genuinely tired. In addition, she knew he wouldn’t ask her to help him unless he truly needed it. She couldn’t in good conscience refuse, not when he’d been such a good friend to her.

  “I can help,” Samantha said consideringly. She absently chewed her bottom lip and mulled it over. In fact, rather than keep looking for a guy, maybe she should just settle on the one Hank hadn’t managed to run off this afternoon. That would certainly speed up the process and it’s not like she’d had a huge window of opportunity to deal with, anyway. If she simply set her sights on Jamie—her lead contender—then the time she’d spend looking for other guys could be spent helping out Hank. She’d get her orgasm and he’d get his help. Seemed like a workable plan.

  Hank’s lips curled into a droll smile, though traces of his irritation still lingered in the tense muscles of his face. “Won’t that cut into your trolling time?” he asked with a sardonic arch of his brow.

  Samantha made up her mind, thoughtfully tapped her chin. “Actually, no.”

  Confusion wrinkled his brow. “No?”

  “I’m through trolling for guys—”

  Hank breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Thank God. I knew you’d come to your—”

  “—because I’ve already found one.”

  Hank’s head whipped around. “What? When? Who?” His frown grew more comically pronounced as he fired the questions at her.

  Samantha turned and started back across the beach toward the boardwalk. A sand crab scuttled out of her path. “Add a ‘where’ and we’re back in English 101,” she said drolly, purposely ignoring his questions. “Come on, Hank. You can tell me what you want me to do on the way back to Clearwater. I’ve got a date.”

  “What?”

  Now that she’d firmed up her plan, she was ready to put it into action. She dusted off her feet and slid them back into her sandals. When she thought about it, Hank asking her for help might have been a blessing in disguise. She might have wasted the majority of her week trying to scope out her options. “I’m meeting someone for a drink and I need to get back.”

  And they really needed to get a move on, particularly since Hank would most likely keep her busy all day tomorrow. That would be fine…provided her nights were free. A thrill whipped through her.

  “Who?” Hank demanded ominously, hot on her heels. “Who are you meeting for a drink?”

  “Jamie,” Sam told him. She whirled around to face him, forcing Hank to draw up short. She determinedly ignored the prickle of awareness that tripped up her spine. “And I’m going alone. Which means, just for clarification purposes, without you. No more funny business, Hank. You have to butt out.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I’m getting laid this week,” she all but growled, “whether you like it or not.”

  Hank’s miserably thunderous expression left little doubt as to which category he’d fall into.

  HOURS LATER HANK MILLED AROUND the bedroom and impatiently waited for Samantha to return. The moment she made it back, Hank fully intended to go and, if necessary, drag Jamie out of bed and beat the living hell out of him. His jaw ached from clenching it so hard. Obviously he hadn’t made himself clear to his former friend when he’d told him that Samantha was “off-limits.” Since verbal communication had failed, he’d resort to physical communication, ensuring that Jamie couldn’t possibly mistake Hank’s meaning again.

  He glanced at the clock and felt his blood pressure boil to stroke level. She’d been gone for two hours.

  Two hours.

  A lot could happen—repeatedly, Hank knew—in one hundred and twenty minutes and, presently his sadistic mind had decided to torture him with horribly graphic scenarios. The idea of simply going by the bar and spying on them was almost overpowering, but Hank checked the impulse. Samantha would never forgive him if he interfered. He knew it and yet…

  Jesus.

  Hank plopped down on the sofa and his breath left him in a long, dejected whoosh. For all intents and purposes, he’d felt the ground shift beneath his feet when she’d told him she wanted an orgasm. He’d known the moment he’d found those condoms what her intentions were, had never doubted for a moment that she’d planned to take a lover this week. But listening to her tell him that she wanted an orgasm… Now that had simply been sheer hell.


  Then, when she’d proceeded to tell him about her one and only suck-ass lover who’d been given the ultimate prize—her virginity—and the sorry little bastard had failed to give her even the slightest amount of pleasure, Hank had been hit with the combined urge to a.) rectify that injustice at once, preferably at that precise moment with his tongue, and b.) hunt the little bastard down and introduce his fist to the guy’s unworthy, ungrateful face.

  Regrettably, neither one of those stress-relieving options were readily available and, as a result, he was about as wired, annoyed, thwarted and irritated as a man could get.

  Hank cracked his knuckles. Luckily Jamie had pissed him off and he’d be able to vent a little of his frustration on him.

  But as he’d alternately paced and sat, fumed and stewed, the one thing that had become glaringly obvious to him was the fact that he’d obviously made a huge mistake all those years ago. He should have kissed her then, that first time he’d been hit with the urge on the ferry. Or better still, he should have followed through with that near-kiss later that summer. If he had, then none of this would be happening. She’d never have squandered her virginity on some uninspired ass, and he could have made absolutely certain that she’d been satisfied. In fact, he’d happily spend the rest of his life giving her as many orgasms as she could possibly handle.

  Though he’d grown increasingly uncomfortable throughout her little I-want-an-orgasm soliloquy, Hank had listened to her and the irony of what she was telling him had all but whacked him between the eyes.

  Or in the groin, as the case may be.

  The entire time that she’d been standing there, telling him about how desperately she needed to get laid, how much she wanted to know what the big deal was about sex and the Big O, Hank’s dick had speedily risen to the occasion and he would have gladly lowered her to the sand and granted her that very wish. With his hands, his tongue, his rod. Whatever. He just wanted to taste her. Wanted to be the one to see her to that special place. He didn’t want anyone else to touch her, didn’t want anyone else giving her the orgasm she wanted.