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“Yes to all.”
He laughed, a sexy, low sound that turned her nipples diamond hard. “An automatic yes, without hearing what I want?”
“And here I thought you knew me…” She squirted a dollop of sunflower oil into her palm. A brisk rub warmed it between her hands before she flattened them on his chest. That’s where they stayed.
Mason circled each wrist, preventing her from slicking him up—or down. The dirty-boy smile downgraded to something one step above a straight line. Her stomach did an uncomfortable twist, even though the hard ridge of his cock remained pressed against her belly. At least she hadn’t killed his hard-on like she’d somehow killed his playful mood.
“I want to.”
“To jerk off for me?” she asked tentatively, but he shook his head.
“To know you. All of you.”
“You already do. Intimately. Better than anybody ever has in that department.”
“I’m interested in your other departments too.”
“The rest is so…serious.”
“I’m up for serious.”
“But it’s only been a couple of weeks.” What the hell was she doing, trying to talk him out of liking her too much?
“Guess I should have checked the relationship playbook. What’s the requisite amount of time to put in before starting to fall in love with someone?”
Oh god. He said it. Well, he almost said it—close enough, anyway. And not while under the effect of orgasmic pheromones. “Around six months, though the process can be accelerated by incidents involving rogue fastballs.”
“Love at first strike.”
“That’d be a great movie title for a romantic comedy. Not very realistic, though.”
“Ouch, cynical.”
“Rational. I’ve accepted that happily ever after doesn’t exist. The average marriage is hanging at around eleven years. Forget about the ’til death do us part, unless one of the spouses murders the other.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Despite his obvious attempt to hold it back, it still showed in his eyes. “How’d we get from me telling you I’m falling in love with you, to you informing me we’ll never need a double plot at the cemetery?”
Heat spread across her cheeks. “How’d we get from me slicking you up with oil so we can have slippery, doggy-style sex, to talking about…about…love stuff?”
He tossed his head back and whooped until he turned a shade of red that probably mirrored hers. If he wasn’t holding her in place, she’d stomp her bare feet out of there.
He recovered himself and looked down at her. “I’ve never been with anyone like you.”
“Old and jaded?” That comment earned her a scolding headshake.
“A woman who’d rather fuck than talk.”
“Sex has a happy ending. Talking, on the other hand…” She wrenched her hands free so she could throw them up in the air. Wave them around in front of his face. “Doesthisto people.”
“Babe, I think it just does that to you.” Yup, he was still calm, cool, sexy and in full control of his extremities.
She returned to the bed with a flop and a sigh. “I have issues.”
He propped alongside, looking down and making no attempt to hide his amusement. “Yeah, I got that.”
“Bet you’re rethinking that request to know me better.”
“Nah.” The grin turned softer, sweeter. His index finger moved randomly over her body. Or not so randomly. He was connecting the dots again, working his relaxation magic. The trail ended at the mole under her jawline. His next stop was her hair, fanning it out on the navy-blue comforter, then sifting his fingers through it. Another of her favorite things. “Better now?”
