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The answer comes fast because, Jesus, no.

That is absolutely not what I want. I shake my head for emphasis, my hands tightening on his shoulders.

“No. I don't want you to stop.”

Something in his jaw relaxes, but he doesn't move. Doesn't touch me again. He just waits. For me.

God, why does that make him even sexier?

“It's just…” I glance at the wall behind me, then back at the very large man standing in front of me. “Well, the wall?”

One dark eyebrow rises.

“The wall.”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

I shift beneath his stare, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “I'm not exactly…”

I trail off. His eyes narrow.

Shit.

Mitchell Knight possesses an almost photographic memory and a terrifying ability to spot bullshit at twenty paces.

Apparently, that includes the bullshit I tell myself.

“Not exactly what?”

“You know.”

“No, Layla. I don't.”

He's going to make me say it.

Bastard.

I gesture vaguely between my body and the wall.

“Built for wall sex.”

For half a second, he simply stares at me.

Then understanding dawns. And something hot, possessive, and almost offended flashes across his face.

“You think I can't pin you to this wall, Firecracker? Think I can’t lift you up and fuck you right here?”

Oh.

Well.

That's not quite the reaction I was expecting.

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to.”