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“You know,” he says, and I can feel his breath ghosting over my face. “Unlike Gage, I’m a sharer.”

My body reacts to his closeness, drawn to him. I remember him pressed hard against my body during that fight, and I want to arch up and rub against him, to see if he’s just as hard now as he was then, or if he needs to be punched in the face a few times first.

As much as I fucking hate it, I can’t deny that I’m attracted to all four of these men. They wear their power and cockiness well, each of them rounding out a different role in their little foursome, and clearly doing it well. Even Priest, with his air of mystery and silent staring, is stupidly good looking. In different circumstances, I wouldn’t kick any of them out of bed.

Ash said he’s a sharer, so I decide to push that, to see just how much he’s willing to share.

“What’s Priest’s real name, then?” I ask. “Since you’re in such a sharing mood.”

He laughs softly, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “That’s one of those secrets I’d probably get shot for sharing. And I’m too hot to be walking around with bullet holes in my ass. We call him Priest because he doesn’t have sex. Like, ever.”

“Why not? He just doesn’t like it, or…?”

Ash just keeps grinning. “Priest contains multitudes.”

So he’s not going to tell me then. Fine. “What about Knox? What’s his whole deal?”

“You’ve seen him. You know what his deal is.”

Fair enough.

“I don’t want to talk about them, though,” Ash says. “They’re not here, and I am.”

“Fine, let’s talk about you.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He flutters his lashes at me teasingly and dips his lower half down more so it’s resting right against mine. “My favorite food is nachos. There’s just something about that really shitty, bright yellow cheese that really does it for me. My favorite color is green, because I look fucking amazing in it. I have this green sweater that I’ve never failed to pull in when I’m wearing it.”

I roll my eyes. It’s clear Ash has no issues talking about himself, but nothing he’s saying really means anything. Probably why he’s so free with giving the information away.

“Let me guess,” I cut in, dead pan. “You like long walks on the beach too. Pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m not that cliché. Sand is a chore, and I hate the taste of coconut. There’s something to be said about getting caught in the rain, though. With someone you like. Someone you wouldn’t mind seeing all wet.”

He draws out the last word, dipping his eyes down to where the curves of my tits are pretty visible through my thin tank top.

“What else can I tell you?” he asks, his voice lower now. “Maybe my favorite sex position?”

“Let me guess, something generic as fuck?” I suggest. “Doggy style or something because you like to pull hair?”

He chuckles at that, his lips curving crookedly. “You say generic, I say classic. There’s nothing wrong with a little doggy style. Having a woman’s ass right there, so you can slap it hard and make her get tighter. And hair is an effective leash. You know what I mean, I know you do.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Maybe I do, but I still think that’s pretty generic.”

“I didn’t say it was my favorite, anyway. It has its place, but I like having a woman on top of me. I like to be able to see every single inch of her while she’s taking my cock. I like to see it sink into her when she’s all wet and eager for it, watch it come out all slick from how turned on she is.”

He keeps talking in that low tone, and I have to swallow hard. He’s not even saying anything particularly revolutionary, but the fact that he’s holding my gaze as he says it all makes me want to shiver. It’s like I can feel each word brushing over my skin, and I can tell he knows it.

The air seems to thicken, making it harder to get a full breath. My heart is beating fast again, but this time it’s not from anything even remotely approaching fear.

My nipples are hard through the fabric of my shirt, and I know he can see that, too. I want to arch against him, or drag him down to me, but I force my stupid hands to stay put.

“What about you?” he murmurs. “What’s your favorite position? Wait, don’t tell me.” He studies me, his eyes tracing over my face and then down lower, as if he can read me like a book.

“You say you want to be on top,” he says. “So you can control the angle, the speed. So you can feel like the feisty bitch you are. But really, you’re the one who loves doggy. You just want someone to shove your face in a pillow and take you. I can tell.”

“Just try shoving my face in a pillow and see what happens,” I shoot back.

He grins. “Oh, don’t tempt me, wildcat. I can handle anything you can dish out and then some.”

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