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She frowned. “I don’t even know what that looks like.”
“Then we need to work on that. Remember when I asked you what you’d do once this was over?”
Her gulp was audible. “Yeah.”
“That time is approaching, Star.I canfeel it.” I stepped closer to the bed, and though I still had shit to do and so did she now, I lifted the duvet and burrowed beneath the blanket and pillow fort she’d made for herself.
I was surprised when she leaned over and put her laptop and mouse on the floor next to the bed for safekeeping. At first, I thought she was going to leave because I’d climbed in, then she was turning on her side to face me and her hand was reaching out to gently trace the furrow between my brows.
“Have you ever let your work define you to the point that you don’t have anything else in your life?”
I blinked. “You do know who you’re talking to, don’t you?”
Her snicker warmed my heart. “You’re funnier in real life.”
“I have an active audience.”
“True,” she teased, eyes gleaming.
“And, to answer your question, of course. I didn’t have anything in my life aside from work and family for too long. Now you’re in the mix as well and let me tell you, you’re more trouble than both of them put together. Which, considering I’ve got five brothers who also happen to run a mob empire, is saying something.”
She cackled. “I’ll keep you on your toes then.”
“I imagine you will, yes.” Shuffling closer, I let my hand fall on her bicep. “How about it? Pizza. Still water. I’ll even spring for some gelato.”
“Pistachio?”
I hummed. “Two scoops. Let’s go wild.”
With a snort, she wriggled closer to me until her front was pressed to mine. Eyes at the same level, she whispered, “I’ll share my ice cream with you.”
“Didn’t think you’d find that hygienic.”
“Hygiene, smygiene. I’ve shared spit with you. I think I can deal with you eating my gelato.”
“I was thinking you’d be eatingmygelato.”
“I’m the guest.”
“True. Still, I’d get to watch you sucking ice cream off a cone. That sounds like spank bank material right there.”
Her eyes widened. “Spank bank?”
Unashamed, I admitted, “Yes.”
“You jerk off—”
“To thoughts of you?” I smiled. “Often.”
Her cheeks glowed cherry red. Every time that happened, it was the strangest fucking thing. I had a serial killer in my bed. A serial killer who didn’t give a shit about the lives she took or how she did it. Didn’t care who got hurt in her pursuit of the truth. Yet she could blush when I talked about this stuff.
It was a dichotomy I didn’t particularly want to change, mostly because I knew she blushed because it wasme.
Sex didn’t make her nervous.
Idid.
And not for negative reasons, either. Just because she wanted me as much as I wanted her, and Star wasn’t used to wanting. She’d said it herself—she used. But she couldn’t use me. There was nothing to gain from sex with me other than pleasure, and her pleasure was my priority anyway.
