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My hand stilled, and I snorted out a laugh. “What made you think I thought you were?”
He grunted. “I don’t need stroking.”
“No? What a shame. You can stroke me if you want.”
“MaryCat!”
“What?” I countered, surprised by his grumbling.
“I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
“I wanted you to be one last night, but not tonight.”
“You’re sore from the trip.”
“Not that sore.” I huffed, but my feelings were definitely hurt. “Jesus, if you don’t want me then just tell me.”
His hand slapped out to grab mine, and he shoved it between his legs.
The move was predictable, but give me predictable any day of the week because, holy shit, he had a boner.
A big one.
A frickin’ delicious one that made his morning wood look small.
There was no misunderstanding what that meant.
My hand trembled as I held his dick in my palm, a pair of boxer briefs the only thing between him and me, while he ground out, “You’re not ready for what I want to do to you.”
Why did that sound more like a promise than a threat?
“Is that for you to decide or me?”
“Me, seeing as you’ve no idea what you’d be getting yourself into.”
“A lot of dick, by the sound of it.”
He released a choked laugh. Then I squeezed his length. He growled. And all of a sudden, his hand was on me, around my throat. The tips of his fingers pressed into the soft flesh, and though my heart began racing, I held him as firmly as he held me.
A dual threat.
God, this was hotter than I imagined.
I spread my legs as an ache surged between them.
“Touch me,” I breathed. “Please?”
“You’ll regret this in the morning,” he grated out, but he shuffled onto me, resting that delicious thickness of his right where I needed it.
“Why? Do you think I’ll want an annulment?” I nipped the pad of his chin with my teeth. “I have no idea what I’m doing, and I don’t think you do either, but that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy about just going along for the ride. Don’t you feel the same?”
He was silent for so long that I kept expecting him to throw himself off me, to fall onto the other side of the mattress, and to tell me to go to sleep.
Then, he rasped, “I do.”
I could tell he didn’t want to admit that. I knew it and understood, but maybe I’d read too many Russian classics in literature because there was a fatalism about us being here.
So many moving parts had led to this moment, and it just felt right.
