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“You didn’t sleep with a guy more than once when you met me, so shut up and get in your bed. Lose the T-shirt.”
I stare him down. “I. Don’t. Cuddle.”
“I. Don’t. Care,” he retorts. He grabs my shirt and pulls me toward him. His fingers curl around the hem and he meets my eyes. “You can take it off or I can rip it off. I don’t care, but it’s coming off.”
I raise my arms and he pulls the material over my head and drops it on the floor. “The only thing you should ever threaten to rip is my panties.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He smirks. “Now get into bed. If I’m cuddling you, you can’t pull your running-away shit when the conversation gets tough.”
I take a deep breath, my chest tightening. He walks to my bed and gets in without a second thought. The covers pool at his waist, giving me a full view of his toned body, and I’m tempted to go over there—if only to run my fingers across his stomach.
“Don’t make me get you,” he warns, pulling the covers aside.
I sigh and get into bed next to him. As sad as it is, it’s true. I don’t cuddle. I haven’t really hugged anyone than Dayton or my parents in years.
Tyler slides me across the bed and lays us both down. “Roll over.”
I roll to face him, my head falling on his shoulder. His arms go around me, his cheek resting atop my head, his body warm against mine.
The hilarity of this situation is how tender our position is when, ten minutes ago, we were fucking so roughly.
“There. It’s not so bad, hmm?”
I jab his side. “It’s awful,” I lie. Truth: his arms around me make me feel more secure than I have in a long time. Maybe it’s the subtle strength in his softly defined muscles, or maybe it’s the tightness he holds me with.
“Why was your day so bad?” I ask, resting my hand on his stomach.
“Two big shoots—one this morning and another in the afternoon. Both with self-righteous, stuck-up bitches who think the world and its mother owes them everything. It was a level of Hell Dante missed.”
“Fun. And I take offense at you calling other women bitches. That’s my name.”
He laughs loudly, his body shaking, making me smile. “Oh, Liv. You’re not just a bitch. You’re my bitch. My flighty, irritating bitch.”
“It’s good to know that you have such a high opinion of me.”
“Cuddle me properly and I’ll switch out the irritating.”
With a sigh, I lie my arm over his stomach. Instinctively, I snuggle in closer. His arms tighten around me a little more.
“There,” I whisper. “Happy?”
“Yes.” He kisses the top of my head. “My beautiful, flighty bitch.”
I close my eyes and try to fight the way my body wants to tense. It shouldn’t be a big deal—switching those words. He could have said sexy or hot or even gorgeous. None of those would be quite as intimate as beautiful sounds.
“That’s more like it,” I quip.
I feel his lips curve against the top of my head. Every second he holds me, every second we lie together in this way when we shouldn’t be, every second we break every one of our rules, a little of my armor chips away.
It chips and it falls away, despite the elephant in the room. Despite the unsaid words, the underlying current of tension I know neither of us wants to address, I feel myself soften a little more toward this man.
My danger. My temptation. My kryptonite.
“I love the way you can lie here and cuddle me but can’t go on a date with me.” Sarcasm threads every word.
Well, there’s the elephant. And it’s stomping its fucking feet toddler-style.
“I was under the impression you were going to make other plans.”
