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I can’t help the subtle upward pull of my lips into a smile. “And because you like it.”

His face burns scarlet as he curls the thin blanket in his fist. “Fine. I get a weird, fucked-up charge from the way you treat me, and I don’t know what that’s about. But whatever we agreed before, I can’t handle you pretending like you feel something like love toward me when we both know you never will.”

Jesus, that crack in his voice at the end.

“Who says I’m pretending?” My tone is light, too light for the dim room and the blanket of emotion covering us both.

“I do. Because even I’m not that stupid.” Then he rolls away from me, pretending like he’s going to fall back asleep. We both know he won’t with the way he’s clinging to the edge of the bed.

My leg is still touching his. I slide it over his hip again, plastering myself to his back.

“You liked it, didn’t you? You loved it when I fucked you.”

He shoves his head partway under the pillow. “You know I did.”

The admission is barely a whisper. May as well have been cannon fire.

“Yeah. You did.” I walk my fingers over his hip, pausing for a reaction before I continue, seeking his warm skin under the hem of his shirt.

“I saved you some muffins,” I murmur against the back of his neck. “They’re on a plate in the refrigerator. Put the rest in the freezer. You can reheat them in the toaster oven.”

He rolls toward me again. I’d swear I can see him arguing with himself. He does this a lot when he doesn’t quite know what the “right” answer is.

“Thank you” is all he says in the end. Though his throat muscles work with the effort of a hard swallow.

Food wasn’t always plentiful for Dean growing up. I don’t even know if he realizes I know, but leftovers are his love language.

My lips tingle, wanting to press against that bobbing Adam’s apple. His lips.

“You’re welcome.” I hate how stiff we both feel right now. How is it that I was recently inside him, and yet we feel further apart than ever?

Can’t fucking stand it.

“I want to be inside you again.” My fingers trail over his soft skin, enjoying the ripple of shivers and goose bumps in the wake of my touch. I think if I could, I’d be touching him all the time.

“I don’t know—” He sucks in a breath. Now I know for sure he’s fighting with himself. The denial on his face, the hardening length pushing against his paper-thin sleep pants. “D’you really think that’s a good idea?”

“We both know you want to.” As if I haven’t thought of it every day since? Believe me, I’ve tried not to.

“It’s not that I don’t—” He shakes his head. “It would confuse Ella.”

“Ella’s not here. She won’t even know.” I run my nose along his jaw, inhaling an interesting mix of spicy aftershave, children’s body wash, and the lotion he would’ve slathered on Ella after last night’s bath. You wouldn’t think cedar and coconuts would smell good together, but you’d be wrong. “That doesn’t sound like a no to me.”

He sighs and lets his eyes fall shut again. But he doesn’t disagree.

I tug his pants, sliding them slowly down his long legs. His eyes fly open and he watches me with interest, chest puffing and lips parted as he breathes in short, shallow bursts. “Maybe it’ll confuse me, then. Mike…”

“Did you like that guy watching while I fucked you?”

“He watches me get fucked once a month.” Despite him trying to play it off, his eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“Mmm. But he’s never watched you and me. Christian fucks you rough and impersonal, I bet. Probably slaps you around a little. Doesn’t he?”

We all know what Christian likes. After getting out of a shitty relationship where he got knocked around by a user who pushed him into escorting for the money, hard and impersonal is the only way he’s willing to fuck.

“Doesn’t he?” I ask Dean when he presses his lips together.

“Yes.”