I exhaled and took another sip. “I just feel like the guys I’ve been with are always in a rush. They don’t listen or pay attention. I mean, they act like they want me to finish, and they ask me things like, ‘Are you close?’ But I never feel like that question is actually about me. And I always feel like I have to say yes, even when the answer is no. I feel pressured, I get nervous. And then I fake it.”
Gianni’s jaw dropped. “You fake your orgasms?”
“Not all the time,” I said quickly. “Just sometimes.”
“How often?”
“Maybe like half the time. Or . . . three quarters.”
“Damn.” He shook his head. “That sucks.”
“Tell me about it.” I drank again. “Why can’t guys just slow down and figure out what I like? It’s not that complicated.”
“What is it you like?”
“Is that the next question?” I pointed at the phone.
“No. I just want to know.” He leaned back and took a drink. “Tell me what you like.”
I swirled the wine in my glass. “I would like someone who doesn’t treat sex like it’s a race.”
“Do you tell them to slow down if they’re moving too fast?”
“I try to, but sometimes it’s awkward. I don’t want to seem like I’m too demanding.”
“Ellie, unless a guy is a total asshole, he wants you to finish. And it’s not in our nature to be patient when it comes to sex.”
“You said you’re patient,” I pointed out.
“I wasn’t always. I had to be taught.”
“Who taught you?”
“This woman I saw for a little while when I lived in New York. She was older—maybe like twenty-five—and I was nineteen, literally a fucking bull in a china shop. The first time we were together, she set me straight.” He drank again. “Taught me some very valuable lessons.”
I couldn’t imagine how confident a woman would have to be in order to give sex lessons.
“Anyway,” Gianni went on, “next time, tell him to slow down.” He sipped his wine. “What else do you like?”
I thought for a moment. “I like it when someone pays attention to unexpected places on my body—I’m not a target with a bullseye.”
“Okay, but you have to admit, there is sort of a bullseye when it comes to a woman’s orgasm.”
“Yeah. It’s called her brain.”
Gianni laughed. “Fair enough.”
“Look, I know the body part you’re thinking of, and I won’t say it’s not important—a guy should definitely be able to find it—but you can’t just flick it like it’s a light switch or go at it like you’re trying to scrape ice off your windshield.”
“So slow and gentle? That’s the motion you’d like on the ocean?”
“At least to start,” I said. “I like sex that goes somewhere. It can get fast or rough eventually, but I need a little time to go from zero to sixty. I understand that it’s less . . . complicated for a guy, but that’s no excuse for flooring it and expecting me to enjoy the whiplash. I want him to show me I’m worth the effort it takes to have some control.”
He nodded slowly. “I get that. But haven’t you ever just wanted to rip someone’s clothes off and go at it?”
My face grew hot. “Not really. So maybe it’s me that’s the problem. Maybe I’m too uptight. Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Not at all. You deserve what you want in bed, Ellie. I was only curious about what that is.” His eyes danced with mischief as he took another drink. “After all, we’re stuck in this room with one bed all night, and it’s like snowmageddon out there. What if we have to have sex to continue the human species? I need to know how to approach it.”
I rolled my eyes. “We will not be having any sex tonight.”
“So you’d let the human species die out rather than do it with me?”
“Yes.”
But every single nerve ending in my body was suddenly alive and humming.
SEVEN
GIANNI
For a moment, I thought maybe I’d gone too far. Ellie had this sort of stunned, uncertain look on her face, like she wasn’t sure she could trust me. I was about to apologize when she slammed the rest of the wine in her glass and reached for the bottle.
“So what about you?” she asked, filling her glass again. “What do you like?”