Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

Be a big girl, Natalie. Just tell him the truth.
Keeping my voice as even as possible, I say, “I’m not so
sure I can be as direct as you are. Truth be told, I’m pretty
conservative.” I clear the frog from my throat. “In bed.”
His voice husky, he says, “You think I don’t know that?”
My stomach sinks. “It’s that obvious?”
“What’s obvious is that you’re so fucking sweet, I just
want to sink my teeth into every inch of you. If you’re worried
you’ll disappoint me, don’t be. You’re perfect. You’re a wet
dream. If you don’t like something I say or do, tell me. I want
everything on the table, because I don’t want to unknowingly
do something to fuck this up. That means you’re going to have
to communicate with me, good or bad.”
He chuckles. “Which, so far, you’ve been very good at.”
I’m all out of breath, and the only thing I’m doing is sitting
down.
I need to see a doctor about my cardiovascular fitness.
Kage must know I’m not up to a coherent response at this
point, because he shows mercy by turning businesslike.
“All right, Ms. Peterson. I accept your offer for a date.
What time are you picking me up?”
“Me? Pick you up? Wait—”
“You’re right, I should drive. People who burn cookies so
badly can’t be trusted behind the wheel of a car.”
I laugh. “Oh, so you want me to communicate with you?
Here’s where I tell you not to be a chauvinistic jerk.”
“You weren’t kidding about missing that day in etiquette
class.”
“I missed the one about not being a wisecracking little
smart aleck, too.”
Once again, he pulls a one-eighty, going from light to dark
like quicksilver.