69
Taz’s hair still lay damp across his chest. He made a mental note to purchase a hair dryer to keep in his bathroom.
In the shower, Taz had smoothed over all his nervous apprehensions.
“How do I know if I’m doing it right?”
“I’ll tell you if you’re doing it wrong,” had been her simple answer.
“But that’s only if I’m doing it wrong. How do I know if I could be doing it right? You know. Better?”
She’d laughed merrily. “Gods you’re so sweet. I’ll give you pointers.”
And she had. Sometimes they were as simply nonverbal as shifting against him or riding her hand on the back of his. Others it was a quick gasp begging him to do that more.
For him? Well, he’d always thought he had a fairly vivid imagination about s*x, perhaps in compensation for having had so little of it. Taz quickly pr
