I grab a gray cropped T-shirt from my drawer and slip it over my head, wanting something plain to cover the scar, something that isn’t glitter. Then I gather my still-damp hair and tie it back in a ponytail. When I turn around, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
Hottie pats the space beside him with a hopeful smile when he catches my gaze, and I huff but move to sit next to him anyway. He hands me a plate, and we start eating the croissants in silence.
Taking a bite of the buttery, flaky texture makes me moan without thinking.
“See?” Hottie grins, his eyes lighting up. “Told you they’re good.”
I reluctantly nod, taking another bite. Theyaregood. Too good for me to pretend otherwise.
He watches me enjoy them for another moment before he starts talking again. “So, did Annabelle move out?”
I shrug, still chewing. “She’s in the midst of it. Why?”
“Just because there’s only her name on the doorbell.”
“You checked the doorbell?”
He almost looks apologetic. “Only because I’d like to know your name.”
“I told you my name.”
“I want to know yourrealname.”
“I want a lot of things too.”
His grin fades slightly, replaced by something less teasing. “You really don’t like to talk about yourself, do you?”
“Nope,” I admit, around a mouthful of the buttery goodness.
“What do you like to talk about, then?” He tilts his head, studying me. “I mean, I get that you don’t want me to know private shit, but we can still talk aboutsomething,right?”
The question gives me pause. What’s safe? What’s a topic that keeps things distant, not letting him get too close or let me get too attached?
I finish my croissant, take a sip of my coffee, and give him a casual shrug. “Sex.”
Hottie blinks in surprise but then laughs. “Well, I think I can manage that conversation.” He finishes his croissant with one more bite, then leans back on his hands, watching me.
He looks at me, really looks at me, and it’s as though he sees past all the walls right down to the parts of me I try so hard to hide. It’s unsettling, that intensity, and I look away, breaking the moment so it doesn’t turn into something I can’t control.
“So,” I say, forcing myself to meet his silver eyes again. “What’s your favorite position?”
The best defense is a good offense.
He laughs, the sound breaking the tension, and I feel a small sense of relief. This is safer.This is easier.
“Whatever the position is called where I lift you by your legs and rail you against a wall until a little puddle forms at my feet.”
I snort, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously into you,” he shoots back, his grin widening as he leans in and quickly pecks the tip of my nose.
“You have to stop that shit, or I’ll throw you out after all,” I warn, rolling my eyes again, but there’s no denying the comfort that radiates through my chest at his words. I hate it. I hate how easily he makes me feel good.
“All right, all right.” He waves a hand in mock surrender, the grin not quite gone from his face. “Okay, so…” He pauses for a beat, then tilts his head, his expression turning more thoughtful. “Do you have any kinks?”
I arch an eyebrow at him, taking a sip of my coffee. “Difficult to say. I enjoy being choked and having my hair pulled, but at the same time, I want forehead kisses.”
His grin fully returns and is even wider this time. “Treat you like a princess, fuck you like a whore. Got it.”
