Page 24 of Checking Out the Librarian

“You like it? The lotion?”

Did the man know what he was doing?

“Jonathan?” That was a smirk. “I asked if you liked it.”

He knew, he absolutely knew, and he must be deliberately screwing with Jonathan. Game on. “A bit more than I expected to, actually.”

Connor tilted his head and smirked, as if acknowledging the hit. “Only a bit?”

Jonathan shrugged and looked at the ceiling rather than stare too long at that towel-wrapped golden gummy bear.

“So can I try it?”

“Now?”

Connor flipped open the lid. “No time like the present.”

“No?”

And that didn’t matter because he squeezed a large dab, not a dime but more like a quarter, onto his fingers and then lifted the opposite arm and started rubbing Jonathan’s moisturizer in circles. Thank fuck he’d buried his body in sheets and blankets.

“My no was what, inaudible? Irrelevant? Immaterial?”

“One thing I’ve learned from having a dog.”

“Only one? Do tell.” He partially raised himself on one elbow.

“Say no like you mean it, Jonathan. Rising intonation makes whatever you say meaningless.”

“Hand me that magazine from the table and I’ll tell you no like I mean it.”

Connor spread a hand in the valley between those pecs, which was a muscle Jonathan could name. “There is no corporal punishment in my home. It’s one hundred percent positive reinforcement.”

The way he spun on his heel sent the edge of the towel flaring and revealed the side of one of those big thighs for a moment. Jonathan might have glimpsed the curve at the top, but far too soon the towel settled in place. For once, though, Connor did not return to the bathroom but stood with his bubble butt facing the bed. And waited.

“Only positive reinforcement? Too bad.” Jonathan sighed heavily. “Some things would be a very pretty pink after a spanking.”

That earned a gasp from Connor, and a shiver down his spine, but then he fled to the bathroom.

It wasn’t three minutes, probably not even two, before he popped back into the bedroom. Jonathan was exhausted without even leaving the bed.

“Can I use your toothbrush?”

“No.”

“There!” Connor beamed at him. “You definitely meant that! I’ll find the toothpaste and use my finger then, I can adapt.”

Clearly nothing was off limits. Jonathan threw his forearm over his eyes, defeated by persistence and also, he was ninety-nine percent certain, gamesmanship. “There’s a spare in my teal-colored bag. You might as well look through everything.”

He supposed he should get up and brush, too. He could take off his makeup, which would give Connor enough time to decide whether he wanted to stay or go. He’d only have to wander to another floor; he wouldn’t even have to put his shoes back on if he didn’t want to.

Who was he kidding, the man had purloined moisturizer, a spare toothbrush, and probably cleanser. He didn’t intend to leave.

More oddly, Jonathan didn’t feel like suggesting it.

And then Connor asked if Jonathan had anything for, as he so glibly put it, cleaning back there, or should he go to his room for supplies, and Jonathan once again stopped breathing. Connor was a big, silly jock, and yet he could toss out a question about douching without a hint of nerves.

“In the red bag. It’s new.”