Sext with Me (Let's Talk About Sext) Read online

  Sext with Me is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2020 by REC LIT, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Loveswept is a registered trademark and the Loveswept colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9780525621089

  Cover photograph: © PeopleImages/iStock

  randomhousebooks.com

  ep_prh_5.6.0_c0_r0

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1: Talia

  Chapter 2: Maxwell

  Chapter 3: Talia

  Chapter 4: Talia

  Chapter 5: Talia

  Chapter 6: Maxwell

  Chapter 7: Talia

  Chapter 8: Talia

  Chapter 9: Talia

  Chapter 10: Maxwell

  Chapter 11: Talia

  Chapter 12: Maxwell

  Chapter 13: Talia

  Chapter 14: Maxwell

  Chapter 15: Talia

  Chapter 16: Talia

  Chapter 17: Talia

  Chapter 18: Maxwell

  Chapter 19: Talia

  Chapter 20: Maxwell

  Chapter 21: Talia

  Chapter 22: Talia

  Chapter 23: Maxwell

  Chapter 24: Talia

  Chapter 25: Maxwell

  Chapter 26: Talia

  Chapter 27: Talia

  Chapter 28: Maxwell

  Chapter 29: Talia

  Chapter 30: Maxwell

  Chapter 31: Talia

  Chapter 32: Talia

  Chapter 33: Maxwell

  Chapter 34: Talia

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Evie Claire

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Talia

  Eye contact. Chin level with the floor. Back straight. Shoulders down. Hands folded in lap. Knees together. Ankles crossed and placed to one side. That’s how Kate does it. Diana probably did, too. It’s the duchess slant. A pose so powerful it could make a potbellied pig look polished.

  Seated across from her new boss, in a newly thrifted pencil skirt and vintage silk blouse, sophisticated was all Talia King wanted to be. Not the inexperienced undergrad she had been a month ago on this very campus. A woman. With a real job, a real title, unlimited possibilities…and an egg’s width between her spine and the chair’s back.

  Fake it till you make it, right?

  The worn-out bookbag that served her well for years was gone. In its place, a sleek yet sensible leather tote bag—one that had a blossom print blooming over the silk lining. Her long, ultraviolet hair was now a smart bob and lightened to a shade that was nearly blond. And the clever kitten heels she’d swooned over at Mama T’s Thriftique…well, those still needed some getting used to.

  “Mrs. King, can I get you anything?” President Harlow motioned to the small beverage bar beside his desk.

  “Oh, um, it’s Miss King, and—” She paused. Shit. She shouldn’t correct the college president within the first five seconds of meeting him. Mrs.? Miss? What did it matter? “Water would be great.” She smiled and cleared her throat, pressing her thumb against the back of a single pearl earring that didn’t need tightening.

  President Harlow placed a bottle of water and a glass emblazoned with the Talmadge College crest in front of her. Was she supposed to use it? Was it a faux pas to drink directly from a bottle in higher education? Were straws acceptable? What about ice? Oh, if only she had someone to advise her about these things. Talia was extremely teachable—an honor grad, even. And Gran was wonderful, but she’d certainly never had a meeting with a president. Talia left the earring back alone and poured the water.

  “I’m excited to see what you’re going to do with the library’s Special Collections Room. Mrs. McTavish tells me we are lucky you decided to join our faculty after graduation.” Okay, so maybe he wasn’t that intimidating.

  Talia breathed deeply, relaxing into the compliment.

  “Mrs. McTavish has been wonderful to me the four years I’ve interned for her. When this job opportunity presented itself, it seemed like fate. Books are my life.” Talia giggled, made an awkward hand gesture, and then froze. Her gaze hit the floor. Giggles were not professional. Damn nerves. “I’m so excited to join her team and become a part of the faculty.”

  “You graduated with last year’s class?” President Harlow lifted his glasses to study the paper before him. Her résumé formatting was instantly recognizable. “Hmm…Phi Beta Kappa, too. Good for you.” He continued scanning.

  “Yes, and no. I finished during summer semester because I had to take time off to work. Tuition isn’t free.”

  Harlow stopped scanning and looked up. His eyes narrowed, then softened, and finally he started nodding. No doubt her buttoned-up appearance hid the truth of her beginnings. Some students on the private college’s campus didn’t have a clue what their parents paid for an education. Talia knew and had earned every penny of hers. She was proud of that.

  “No, it’s not. And good for you. That shows a level of determination that fewer students have these days. Talmadge is very lucky you decided to stay.” Harlow pushed back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Is Georgia home for you?”

  “Yes, I grew up just a few miles away. My entire life has been spent right here on the outskirts of Atlanta. Twenty-three years in a twenty-mile radius.” It was meant to imply she was a local, practically part of Talmadge culture already. Only when it came out, it also sounded sad. Atlanta was huge, nearly six million people by some counts. Yet she’d never made it past the borders. She’d never had the cash. But life was changing. And so were her limits.

  “Familiar with the area and the school. Good for you. I hope that doesn’t mean you won’t take part in our faculty mentorship program. There’s a lot to learn about the procedures and overall culture working here. It’s a much easier maze to traverse with an experienced faculty member to guide you.”

  “Of course!” Talia said with more excitement than was necessary. “How do I sign up?” She pushed her hair from her face and reached for a notepad and pen.

  “Just let my assistant know when you’re leaving. We’ll pair you with someone and they’ll reach out to you.”

  “That’s easy enough.”

  “Thank you for stopping by, Talia. I always like to meet new team members one on one. Talmadge is a small family and we like to take care of our people. If there is ever anything I can do, my door is open.” President Harlow rose from behind his desk and extended a hand.

  Talia took her cue. Gathering her bag in her left, she offered her right hand and shook his—strongly, solidly, and with eye contact. Totally duchessy adulting.

  Before she knew it, the meeting she had agonized over was over. And she felt a little naïve for having made such a big deal about it.

  Stepping over the office threshold into a small vest
ibule and closing the door behind her, she closed her eyes, leaned her shoulders against the wood, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled under her breath to whatever higher power that might be listening. With that off her to-do list, the day’s load had lightened by about a thousand pounds. The enormity of her relief made her wonder why she was always so desperate for approval. Existential questions were becoming a bigger part of her life. Why, why, and more why?

  She had the job. She certainly had the chance to prove herself. President Harlow wasn’t keeping a daily tally on her. She was a librarian, not a professor. Books were her job, not molding the minds of impressionable youth. But still, she cared what he thought of her.

  “Excuse me?” A friendly face popped around a column to her right. Bright white hair cut into a pixie style framed soft brown eyes and an angular face. She was spritely but sharp. With her mouth pursed into a small pucker and her eyes gleaming, her appearance pulled Talia’s back off the door.

  “Oh.” Talia snapped out of it. “First-meeting-with-the-big-guy jitters.” Talia shrugged and bit her lip sheepishly.

  “How’d it go?” The lady asked, nodding like she already knew and waving Talia out of the little alcove.

  “Good. Great. I guess.”

  “I’m sure you did just fine.” Back on the business side of her desk, the lady took a business card from a drawer. “Here, I’m Lorena. You call me if you need anything. And I do mean anything. That’s my cell.” The assistant pointed to the second number and pressed the card into Talia’s hand with both of hers. Her grip was as warm as her smile.

  “Thank you. I need to sign up for the faculty mentorship program. Can you help me with that?” Talia took a seat in the chair opposite. “Is there a form or something?”

  “No, no form. We’ve decided to shake things up a little bit this year.” Lorena wiggled her shoulders, causing Talia to snicker. On this side of the door, her giggle didn’t feel childish. “We’re going to hold a random drawing, that way there’s more…cross-pollination among the faculty.”

  “Sounds fun. I had assumed Mrs. McTavish would tuck me under her wing, but who knows?” Talia shook her shoulders the same way Lorena had. She liked the woman and made a mental note to reach out later in the week to thank her for her help.

  “Who knows?” Lorena repeated, smiling and winking like it was some grand secret. It was names in a hat. But Talia could play along. Shaking things up rarely happened at an established institution like Talmadge.

  “Well, thank you. Have a good day.” Talia stood, still smiling, as the assistant continued to shoulder dance and make notes. Lorena’s energy was nice—much livelier than coworkers who had perfected the art of sneezing silently and couldn’t wait to teach her, too. It was an accomplishment. A boring one. But a source of pride in its own special way.

  Turning, she slid the business card into her bag and went for the door. Only to take one step and crash headfirst into a hard, warm body that smelled like Earl Grey and leather.

  “Oh”—an unfamiliar voice paused—“there you are.” His mouth was right at her ear, and when he let out a throaty chuckle, it wafted over her cheek. The hint of laughter burned her ears, not because she was being laughed at but because the tone was so carefree—the antithesis of everything she’d felt for the past half hour. Two hands pressed into her upper arms to steady and carefully rebalance her. “You found your feet?” he asked, dipping his head to catch her gaze.

  Swinging her hair out of her face, she looked up and stepped away.

  Only to stop again.

  Blinking.

  Swallowing.

  Blinking…again.

  Of course she’d body tackle someone like him. It was one of those days.

  His hair was chocolatey dark, with a hint of salt sprinkled at the temples. Beside his temples, the telltale lines of a quick smile faintly webbed toward his eyes. Eyes that were quick, dark, but somehow teasing, too, taking Talia in with much amusement. Lines also curved away from a half-grin, showing he had a way of laughing at himself and the world that Talia admired because it still eluded her. She should say something. She knew she should. But every thought that flew into her mind wasn’t one she could allow out of her mouth.

  If he wore a bow tie, he’d be preppy. If he bothered with the top few buttons of his shirt, he’d be polished. If he didn’t wear a tea stain splashed over that unused placket, he’d pass for put together. And if he didn’t flash a roguish smile that implied he knew every thought in her head, he’d be charming.

  Instead he came off like the bad boy crime boss in Gran’s favorite soap opera. The guy Talia secretly loved despite Gran’s passionate disapproval of his wicked ways. Even Gran would have to admit this man was handsomely disheveled, like he could slip out of that barely buttoned shirt at any minute—without warning—and that wouldn’t be an altogether awful thing.

  Shit. Talia mentally slapped herself for having such thoughts. Not professional.

  “Oh, excuse me. I should pay better attention to where I’m going.” She wheeled away from him, tightened her hold on the bag strap, and continued to the door. “Thank you.” It was an afterthought, really, but sincere. Had he not been paying attention, she might be sprawled all over Lorena’s floor right now…duchess slant and all. Ugh, she was such a mess. A total sham. And for some reason, it felt like he saw her for what she really was. Were the ladder rungs from coed to respected colleague this far apart for everyone?

  “My pleasure,” he said, his voice fading behind the closing door.

  Once again, Talia’s back found the solid wood. Instead of closing, her eyes were saucers. Her palms damp. She peeked through a small window to be sure he wasn’t watching. Nope, he was chatting with Lorena, not at all worried about the impression he may have made on her. So, why was she so bothered? Again with the existential questions. He was obviously a faculty member. She should’ve introduced herself. After crashing into him, an introduction was the furthest thing from her mind.

  He was cute, but definitely older. And any man with such confidence was dangerous. Gran’s soaps had taught her that much.

  Talia King always played it safe.

  Chapter 2

  Maxwell

  “Sorry I’m late. It’s been a morning.” Maxwell Radclyffe opened his blazer to reveal a tea stain dripping down the front of his shirt and shook his head.

  “Trying to handle too much at once as usual.” President Harlow tsked as he offered his hand and a welcoming smile. Maxwell shrugged, not wanting to rehash the details of how the tea got on his shirt. “Good to see you. Thanks for coming on such short notice. I won’t keep you long.” Harlow’s attention fell to his desk. Shuffling some papers, he found the one he was looking for.

  “Rob—I mean, President Harlow—” Maxwell caught himself and winced slightly. On campus, he always tried to respect the accomplishments of his old friend and former mentor. They weren’t sharing whiskey over a soccer game today. They were work colleagues. More importantly, they were boss and employee. “Life gives only what you take from it. I’m grabbing every banana.”

  Harlow chuckled under his breath.

  “You will never change, Maxwell Radclyffe. I’m certain that attitude serves you just as well in life as it did whizzing through Harvard undergrad.” Harlow’s mouth wrinkled into a roguish half-smile and he took a seat.

  Maxwell grinned, remembering the first time he’d sat across from Harlow. He’d left the advisory meeting with a new friend and the nickname “Cliffie”—yeah, his last name made him low-hanging fruit at Harvard. But Maxwell realized it was all in good fun—especially given his affection for the opposite sex.

  Robert Harlow was the only reason Maxwell had decided to leave private practice and join academia. Since he had been a freshman on the Cambridge campus, Robert had guided him, first as his academic adv
isor, later as a friend, and now as a boss. Maxwell had never given a career in academia serious thought. For a sexual psychologist, private practice was where you helped people the most. In the trenches, so to speak.

  Until Robert invited him to dinner one day to discuss an “exciting idea” he had.

  Maxwell came away with a new purpose.

  At the core of it, societies’ perceptions of human sexuality would never change if people weren’t taught fact over fiction and the old wives’ tales were finally put to rest. He wasn’t here for the money. He was here to make a difference with as many young minds as he could.

  In his professional opinion, there was nothing that made one more human than their sexuality. Well, that and opposable thumbs. But he thought about it this way—humankind was certainly getting it on before the first use of the written word. There was a good argument that it came before spoken language, too. To Maxwell, one’s sexuality deserved studying in the same way English, anatomy, or even public speaking did. He intended to make it a table—not taboo—topic.

  Every fall, his freshman girls blushed bright red to use words like orgasm and clitoris out loud. Most arrived on campus with knowledge they’d gleaned from Google, glossy magazines, and works of fiction. Far from fact-based science. When they graduated four years later, hearing them openly discuss sexuality as a science instead of a sin made his heart proud. He was doing good. One enlightened mind at a time.

  “Legal is at it again.” Harlow rolled his eyes and floated the paper across his desk. A screenshot of Maxwell’s private practice website lay over the page in full color.