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My breath catches. While I know what he means—he’s not an eleven-year-old boy giving me a construction paper heart—those three words still do stupid things to my heart.
Stupid, dangerous things.
I sit up, searching around for my bra. “I should get dressed. For the pizza, that is,” I say.
“You’re right. Eating pizza naked is weird,” he deadpans.
There he goes again, saying things that disarm me. “It is,” I say playfully, trying to keep the mood light.
Light is better.
I tip my chin toward the bathroom door. “Your bathroom is right there?”
He used it a few minutes ago to ditch the condom. But it feels presumptuous to just go in there without permission.
“Yes. Take your time,” he says, then swings his legs out of bed and pads toward the walk-in closet. The view of him naked is hard to look away from. He’s all long and muscular. His ass is spectacular. Firm and strong. Am I an ass woman? I just might be.
But then a terrible reminder of why his ass is so terrific lodges in my brain. He’s a triathlete. He works out with my father.
On that unpleasant reminder, I head to the bathroom and shut the door.
A few minutes later, I emerge, still naked and a little sore, but no longer sex-disheveled. Finn’s lying in bed, reading on a tablet, and wearing pajama pants.
Hello, view.
I’d like to whistle my appreciation. Those navy-blue pants are low-slung and sexy as hell. I stare. I can’t not.
“Liar,” I tease. “You do like pajamas.”
As he sets down the tablet on the nightstand, he meets my gaze. “So do you.” He’s busted me for ogling him.
“I told you I did,” I say, but I’m thinking I should have brought my bag up here so I wouldn’t have to walk downstairs naked to get dressed.
Awkward.
But Finn’s already up and out of bed, grabbing the shirt he wore earlier tonight. “Wear this to sleep in,” he says, and my belly flips from the sexy offer.
He closes the distance between us and hands me the shirt. I take it and slide my arms into it. It’s big on me, so I cuff the sleeves twice, then reach for the buttons to do them up. But he sets a hand over mine, stopping me. “Jules,” he says, like a low warning.
“Yes?”
“You look incredible in my shirt,” he says, then tugs on the panels, letting out another hungry sigh. “So fucking good.”
This man makes me feel like a goddess, especially as he buttons the shirt for me, stopping midway. He leaves it open at my cleavage, then runs a hand possessively over the tops of my breasts. “Perfect. These are perfect pajamas for you.”
My heart flutters. He makes me feel so wanted, especially when he curls a hand through my hair to draw me in for another kiss.
When he breaks it, I follow him downstairs, passing the landing on the second floor.
I stop for a second.
There’s a toy truck on a small table in the corner of the landing. I missed that on the way up.
When we reach the main level, and he flicks on the living room lights, my gaze lands on a framed photo on an end table. It’s a picture of a little boy scrambling up a jungle gym.
Immediately, I flash back to the box of cheddar bunnies on the kitchen counter, putting the clues together. “You have a kid?” My voice pitches up.
I had no idea Finn was a dad. But I didn’t know Finn was a dominating pleasure-giver either. So, there’s that.
