“There are rules?” I asked.
“Sacred ones, my guy. Sacred.” He lay on his back, pulling me with him.
“Rule one: No blanket hoarding,” he announced while pushing my face down toward his chest. “Blanket hoarding will not be tolerated. This is a partnership, not a rebellion.”
I wiggled closer, enjoying the way his voice hummed through his chest when he talked.
“Rule two: Leg tangling is absolutely required,” he said, spreading his legs so my top one fell between them, and then he hooked an ankle around mine.
“Rule three?—”
“Are you making this up?” I wondered.
“Rule three.” He continued as if I didn’t speak. He was totally making this up. “Whoever gets up from cuddling first is sus.”
“Sus?”
“Suspicious. Probably emotionally stunted.”
“What?” I wondered. I was beginning to think maybe I did have a hearing problem because half of the stuff he said made no sense.
“Rule four: Bladder breaks are legal and do not meet thecriteria of abandonment.”
I sniffed. “You’re only saying that because you just went to the bathroom.”
“Oh, did you want to cuddle with meandthe used condom?”
I wrinkled my nose. He must have felt it because his chest bounced with a light laugh. I wrapped my arm around his middle, and the arm beneath me folded around my waist.
He was warm like a furnace, and his scent this close was concentrated.
“Rule five: Forehead kisses make it more romantic.” The second he said the words, I felt his lips brush against my forehead. My hair was messy and in the way, which kept me from feeling it all the way. So I pushed it back, hoping he would get the hint.
This time, his hand wrapped around the back of my head, cradling it while his lips came down, breath whispering across my skin before gently landing, lingering for several heartbeats.
“Oh,” I purred, hand starting to explore his midsection. I loved the way his muscles bunched and reacted to every light caress.
He made a throaty sound, settling against the pillow, fingers carding through my hair. “Six: Hair play is elite.”
Maybe these rules weren’t so stupid after all…
“Drooling is not a deal-breaker.” He went on, my lashes fluttering closed.
My fingers paused when they met a mark on his skin. It was easily the size of a silver dollar, the tissue hard and raised. I brushed across it again, and he caught my wrist, pulling itaway.
“Did it hurt?” I asked, a sense of sorrow weaving around my heart as I considered what could have happened to leave a scar that big.
“I survived.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Silence filled the motel room. His hand went back to playing with my hair. “Most important…” he said.
Did I mention I really liked the sound of his voice?
“The little spoon has protection rights.”
My eyes popped open. “Little spoon? What’s that?”
