Opened it again.
"Okay," I conceded, "you might have a point."
"Might?"
"A small one." I held up my thumb and forefinger, barely a centimeter apart. "Tiny."
He snorted. "The police report would disagree."
A laugh burst out of me, echoing off the tile. "Oh my god. Stop."
"'Yes, officer, I was just explaining my sex dungeon to this nice woman at the coffee shop—'"
"Stop." I was shaking with laughter now, water sloshing against the sides of the tub. "That's not—youwouldn't—"
"'I don't understand why she's crying, I was very polite about the throat-fucking—'"
"Damien!"
He was grinning—that full, devastating grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I'm just saying. Context matters."
"Fine." I twisted in his arms, turning to face him properly. "Context matters. You win."
"I usually do."
I rolled my eyes. "And the humility. Truly inspiring."
"I'm a humble man." He tucked a wet strand of hair behind my ear, his expression softening. "I just happen to also be right most of the time."
"Most of the time?" I repeated dryly.
"Ninety-seven percent."
"That's very specific."
"I did the math."
I stared at him—this ridiculous, brilliant, infuriating man who had just taken me apart piece by piece and was now making me laugh so hard my stomach hurt.
"I love you," I said. "Even when you're insufferable."
"Especially when I'm insufferable," he corrected, pulling me closer. "That's when I'm most charming."
"That's not how that works."
"It's absolutely how that works." He kissed the tip of my nose. "You just admitted you love me while calling me insufferable. I rest my case."
Chapter forty-two
Damien
The next day came far too quickly.
Not even twenty-four hours ago, I'd been in a hot bath with Emma, her laughter echoing off the tile while I explained—in excruciating detail—why leading withI want to fuck your throat in my sex dungeonwould result in a police report rather than a date.
"Context matters," I'd told her.
"You win," she'd conceded, still shaking with giggles, water sloshing over the sides of the tub.
