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Oh fuck was right because when I looked down at myself, I remembered what I was wearing. My tiny pale blue nightie that didn’t hide how hard my nipples were. Or most of my body.
I always wore nighties to bed. Short ones because the long ones tangled around my legs and woke me up.
I crossed my arms over my chest, which only made him growl. Yeah, he growled. For some reason, he looked angry. No, he looked… intensely aroused. And maybe hating himself for it.
“There’s only one bed,” I commented, stating the obvious.
With his gaze on my bare thighs, he patted the space beside him. “We’re sharing.”
“What?”
“One bed.”
“Why isn’t the other room furnished?” Out of all the questions to ask, like Why didn’t you tell me this before so I could have stayed in a hotel? or Where are your pajamas? or Can I feel all of those muscles?, that was what came out.
“Because Bradley found this place. It was unfurnished and since it was just me, he only had the bare essentials delivered.”
It must have been pretty nice having an assistant do all kinds of things for you. I could only imagine having one. He’d take my list and have everything accomplished before lunch. Or maybe before I had my coffee in the morning if he was as good as Bradley seemed. Like the snap of my fingers… Done!
I needed one of those. I’d add it to my list.
“There’s a plant in the living room,” I prompted, because the man’s priorities were skewed. Bradley’s, although maybe Dex’s, too. “That’s more essential than a guest bed?” I didn’t know the assistant, but he needed a talking to.
“Seems that way.”
“I’ll just take the couch.” I thumbed over my shoulder. It was a leather sectional. It was big enough, but it would be slippery and chilly.
“Not happening.”
“I’ll go to a hotel.”
“Definitely not happening.”
“I’m not sharing that bed!” I pointed at it as if I were a prudish maiden. Or nun. Or prudish maiden nun.
“Come to bed, sugar. To sleep,” he added. It was an important clarification. For my brain. And my vagina. Because my vagina liked the come to bed, sugar part and my brain snagged on to sleep like a fish on a hook.
“You sure about that?” I pointed at him again. This time at the front of his boxer briefs and the thick–very thick–outline of his dick pressed against the fabric. I couldn’t believe that was real. If it didn’t just pulse and–did it just grow larger?–beneath the cotton, I’d have wondered.
He must have inwardly laughed when I mocked the size of it in the produce section earlier because boxer briefs left no one wondering. About anything dick related.
“You’re wearing a little scrap of nightgown and it’s more of a tease than if you were naked. I’d have to turn in my man card if I didn’t get hard seeing you like that.”
“What?” I wasn’t pretending to be that prudish nun, but a guy hadn’t seen me undressed in a long time. And a guy like Dex found me hot?
“Fuck, woman, you’re gorgeous. Now come to bed. No funny business.”
I gave him a look. I wanted funny business. All kinds of it. I owed it to myself, and women the world over, to have every kind of funny business that existed with Dex James. Who was aroused because of me.
Maybe it was the hit of power I felt at learning that, but I went around to the far side of the queen-sized bed. I tugged the quilt and sheet back, then grabbed a pillow and shoved it in the center against Dex’s hip.
Then I climbed in, pulled the blankets over me.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, propping himself up on an elbow and looking at me over the hump beneath the quilt.
“A berm.”
“A berm?” He stared at the pillow as if it was offending him.
