MIRANDA
In the hotel room, Miranda sat on the edge of the bed, nerves plucking at her belly. Why had she taken Simon back to her hotel? He stood before her, a drool-inducing sight of pure male, and she was caught between wanting to rip off his clothes and tossing her cookies.
Thinking about having sex and indulging in the actual act were two very different things. How often had one of her theories turned to so much abstract dust when pitted against the proof? Then again, no conclusions could be reached without experimentation.
"Come here, Miranda," said Simon. His eyes flared with lust. Miranda's stomach jumped. I can't do this. Her gaze skittered toward the door.
As if he realized Miranda might bolt at any time, Simon unzipped his pants and wiggled them off. Before Miranda knew it, she was staring at the large genitals of this man. A man who wants to make love to me. Her mouth went dry and her heart hammered.
