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My cheeks heat.
"I did stop before I fucked you," he points out.
I draw in a breath. "I meant to thank you for that."
"You can thank me for it by dispensing with this romantic nonsense you’ve come up with." He rolls his shoulders.
"Youare going to thankmefor it." I fold my arms across my chest. "You want to convince your family that you found yourself a wife, then we have to do this the right way."
"The only way I want to do it is with you bent over the bed, exposing your sweet little ass, so I can be the first to take it."
A-n-d Elle Woods was onto something when she declared all masturbatory emissions, where his sperm was clearly not seeking an egg, could be termed reckless abandonment.You have no idea, Elle, no idea at all.
"Is that all you think about?" I throw up my hands.
"You mean fucking? Do I have to answer that?" The look on his face is almost comical in its earnestness.
I blow out a breath. "We’re going to have to work on your romantic manner, just so you know."
"Balls to romance."
"The balls come after the romance, actually." I snicker.
"Not when you prance in naked on a man you barely know in the shower," he points out.
I have the grace to blush. "I was pissed off, okay? The gentlemanly thing to do would have been to let me use the bathroom first.”
"I am no gentleman." He scratches his chin. His fingernails rasp over the rough hair of his beard and the sound chafes my already sensitized nerve-endings. My nipples pebble, a pulse flares to life between my legs, and I’m ashamed to say, moisture laces my core. This is ridiculous. Am I so tuned into him that his every gesture draws a response from me? On the physical level; only on the physical level. The man is a complete asshole, and a criminal, to boot. No way am I going to get emotionally entangled with the likes of him.
"No kidding. You’re so far from being a gentleman that if you said or did anything halfway chivalrous, I’d probably topple over dead."
"Don’t do that. I’m going to need you alive and in good health, just until we get through this pretense."
"Gee, thanks." I crumple up the empty chip wrapper and throw it at him. He snatches it out of thin air, shoots it at the waste basket near the wall, and does he miss? Of course not.
"So, you’re on for the wedding then?"
"The fake wedding, and only if you get me a ring," I retort.
"Done, but I have a condition of my own."
"Umm, do I want to hear it?" I scrutinize his features.
"Probably not." His eyes gleam. "But I’m going to tell it to you anyway."
"You’re going to ask to consummate the marriage."
"How did you guess?" He has the gall to look surprised.
"Do I look stupid to you? Besides, your intentions are written all over your face."
"You want a ring, you want to make the marriage look real, you want me to wheel out the entire romantic nonsense... It’s only fair that we have sex."
"It’s not the same thing," I shoot back. "I was suggesting ways to provide evidence the relationship is real."
"What could be more real than us banging?"
I wince. "Your vocabulary really does need refining."
