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She’d forgotten that until now.
He was frowning, sifting through the random collectibles. She took the box from his hands and set it aside, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Guess I forgot how talented you are outside of the bedroom and kitchen.”
His cocky smirk returned. “Is this your way of asking for seconds?”
“Do you mean of pasta?” She tried to sound innocent.
“I mean sex. Are you kicking me out tonight?”
She bit her lip, considering. She’d sort of forgotten about that part—the leaving part.
“I mean, whatever you want,” she hedged.
“Are you asking me to stay?” He cocked his head. “Or saying I don’t have to leave?”
“Is there a difference?” Her smile shook. There was a big difference.
“Let’s discuss it at length after.” He removed the sheet covering her breasts and kissed a path down to her belly.
“After what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. You and I both know you’re not.”
She sighed and fell back into bed, the shoebox forgotten as well as the discussion about him staying or leaving.
The next morning, she woke to find him next to her. They never had discussed it. And she tried not to think about how much she liked rolling over and bumping into his solid, warm back.
