Consent. If it’s not awkward, you’re not doing it right.

Consent. If it’s not awkward, you’re not doing it right.

Consent. Yep, it’s still a thing.

If you’ve read my books, you know there’s an awkward point in every single one. You’ll know when you come across it. Clothes have long since hit the floor, ragged breath has replaced words, and sweat and lust glisten across bare skin. Then everything stops.

Let’s let Sam Draper from my second novel, McCall, explain:

 

A soft knock made her turn her office chair towards the door.

“Do you have a moment, Captain Draper?”

Lily, the twenty-three-year-old temp sent from headquarters in Boise, stepped in and closed the door. She was slender, startlingly pretty in a hipster way, with a dark angled bob and light blue eyes. The regular receptionist, Marnie, was on maternity leave for a few more months, and everyone but Sam was counting the days until she returned.

Sam got up from her chair slowly, walked to the door, and locked it behind Lily, her fingers brushing the small of her back. She pressed her slowly against the door with her body, one arm on either side of her head, then worked her fingers into Lily’s hair and pulled her head gently to the side. She didn’t quite touch Lily’s skin with her mouth, just let the heat of her breath travel down to her shoulder, where she slid her finger under the strap of her sundress and dropped it down her shoulder.

Sam stepped back. Her voice was soft, but rough around the edges. “Take it off.”

Lily wordlessly unzipped her dress as Sam walked back to her desk and leaned against it, watching as the dress dropped to the floor.

“All of it.”

Sam knew the sounds of her breath from across the room. It was fast, like her heartbeat; she’d memorized it over the last few weeks, her palm pressed between Lily’s naked breasts, holding her body still while her tongue slid across her clit. Sam looked up and held her eyes.

Lily crossed the room and stood in front of Sam, who slid a thumb under her sheer panties, scraping them lightly down her thighs, then dropping them onto the desk behind her.

She lifted Lily into her arms, wrapping her legs easily around her waist, then turned and laid her down on the desk. Sam ran her hands down the insides of Lily’s thighs, then lowered her mouth to Lily’s clit, the slick heat of her body enveloping her fingers and dripping slowly almost down her wrist as she entered her.

“Do you want this?”

Sam waited. She asked her every time and made her look her in the eyes and say it before she’d go on.

“Yes,” Lily said, arching her back, “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Sam,” she said, more breath than words, “Fuck me.”

This is clearly not the first time they’ve had sex. But they aren’t in a relationship, and Sam makes her say yes before she’ll continue.
Come to think of it, that’s not awkward… it’s just the right thing to do. No matter who’s naked on the desk.

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