IllicitImpulse Read Online Free PDF Page B

wasn’t even sure
he really wanted to know. As it was, he’d have to listen to this section of the
tape again so he could write down the appropriate details from the first
orgasm.
    “And you came again?” he asked. He knew he shouldn’t prompt
her this way, but the tension was unbearable.
    Grace nodded.
    “Harder than last time?”
    “A little harder. Let’s call it a seven.”
    “Seven.” Trying not to look at her, trying to keep it
professional, he asked, “Just so I know, how many climaxes are we talking
about?”
    “That night? Four.”
    Four was two or three more than he was accustomed to hearing
about. Certainly well within the realm of normal experience, but more than he
had prepared himself for, even under the most optimistic of circumstances.
    Grace broke the brief silence. “What’s wrong? TMI?”
    “No, this is exactly what I wanted.”
    “You sure? I can scale it back if you want.”
    She tipped her head to one side and grinned at him, as if
she were issuing a challenge.
    “Oh no, don’t do that,” he said. “This is perfect.”
    “Good.” Grace laced her fingers together and rested her
hands on her lap. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You’ll let me know
if I’m boring you, I hope.”
    “I don’t think there’s any chance of that.”
    No, he wasn’t bored. Not by a long shot. Listening to her
recreate her night with that buddy of hers—and this one night promised to
provide him with more detail than the other subjects had come up with in weeks—was
anything but boring. Grace was a fountain of information. He could hardly keep
up with her. He hoped she’d never stop.
    But listening to her was torture.
    How long could he keep from visualizing her in bed with this
guy? Worse, how long could he keep from thinking about taking Tal’s place?
    And now the knowledge of what pleased her would invade his
thoughts, adding depth and detail to already potent distractions. He could see
her in his bed, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her black hair shimmering in the
faint light. The thought of her voice, husky with desire, had disrupted his
concentration all day. Playing with fire. The flames drew him like a moth and
he was starting not to care so much about being burned.
    When she had finally come to the end of her narrative,
telling of those last two orgasms, which she rated a seven and an eight, John
shifted in place and asked her the most important of his questions.
    “Was anything else different? Did you notice any other
changes?”
    Her teasing smile slowly faded from her face and as he
watched, her mouth set itself in a thoughtful frown. He silently counted five
full seconds before she answered him.
    “Just one thing. I didn’t stay. I left and went home.”
    “You don’t usually do that?”
    She shook her head. “No, I usually sleep over. Tal’s okay
with it and he’s good for a morning quickie. Plus I’m sleepy afterward. Ready
to bed down.”
    Next to the notation, Subject does not sleep over ,
John penciled in a star.
    “So what happened this time? Why’d you go home?”
    “I don’t know. I wasn’t sleepy at all, which is kind of
weird.” She sighed. “I guess I just got tired of the Walk of Shame.”
    John bit the inside of his lip. He needed to do something.
To hold her hand. To comfort her. But even if he knew what to say to her, he
couldn’t do it now, not when she was reporting back to him.
    He wrote, not sleepy at all and tired of the Walk
of Shame , and then he gave her the only solace he could. “Tal never stays
with you?”
    “Nobody ever goes home with me.” Her expression brightened
again, mischief in her smile. “That’s a rule. After all, I can’t sneak out of
my own place, can I?”
    John turned back to his notepad, now dark with his
handwriting. “No, I guess you can’t, can you?” He let the tip of his pencil
hover over the page, not sure of how or whether he should record her
observation. Finally he straightened in his chair and