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“Don’t play dumb with me, mister. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“And what am I doing?”
“Being a distraction.”
“What am I distracting you from?”
“Myself!”
He chuckled.
“That made sense in my head. You’re short-circuiting my brain. Stop it.”
“Stop what?” He ran one hand down his sculpted chest in a move that looked casual but was clearly calculated.
“Cheater. You’re a businessman. You’re supposed to be flabby and soft and resistible. This.” I waved my hand in his direction. “Is unacceptable.”
“You’d rather I be out of shape?”
“No. Well, yes. Sort of. But no.”
He quirked his eyebrow at me playfully.
“Get up.”
“Why?” He stood.
“Help me out of this damn thing so I don’t break my face when I fall out of it like a moron.”
He held the cords, keeping the hammock in place.
Carefully, I slid off it. When I stood up straight, my chest brushed his.
“Now what?” he asked, his voice husky and his eyes molten.
“Now you carry me to your bed and you fuck me like you mean it.”
Strong hands gripped my ass and yanked me off the ground.
“Yikes!”
“Don’t I always fuck you like I mean it?”
I wrapped my legs around his waist and held onto his shoulders. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“You’re too nice.”
“I’m too nice?” He walked me toward the bed.
“Yes. And stop repeating everything I say.”
“How am I too nice?”
“You’re always so sweet and gentle.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
