I inhale sharply. Mild-mannered Thomas has disappeared again and the gruff one is back, the one I only seem to get in private.
Maybe it’s the lingering liquor in my system, or maybe it’s my hormones running wild thanks to having a man pressed up against me like this for the first time in ages, but I murmur, “I mean, maybe we could.”
I don’t quite regret the words when they’re out, even though Thomas tenses for a moment before slowly relaxing again. “You’re the one who made the rules, Stella.”
It’s certainly not an enthusiasticyesor even awe could give it a try, and yet the way he breathes the words against my ear feels like an invitation. The way he tilts his hips up, letting me feel exactly what my movements have inspired, is another gentle nudge in that direction. But he’s still allowing me to make the choice.
“We could amend them,” I propose. My heart races as I slide my hand over his and keep going until I reach his body, then drift across the waistband of his underwear. “I owe you for what you did for me at the strip club…”
He doesn’t stop me as I slip my fingers under the elastic. His muscles go taut as I move lower, almost to his—
“You don’t owe me anything.” The sentence is pained as he gently grasps my wrist. The rejection stings until he confesses, “Besides, if you do that, I might fall in love with you, which isnotallowed.”
I laugh at his weak attempt at a joke, turning my cheek into the pillow to stifle it, but it’s no use. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
He returns his arm to my waist. “Yes, I’d say that’s a good idea.” As if he can’t help it, he presses a kiss to the spot just under my ear, and it makes me shiver in delight. “Now go to sleep.”
“I will when your dick stops poking into my ass,” I shoot back, which earns me a swat on said ass. I gasp and lift my head to look at him in shock, trying to hide my amusement. “Did you justspankme?”
“That was nothing more than a love tap. You’ll know when I spank you.”
Forget needing his body heat, I’m suddenly hotter than a raging inferno. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“Go tosleep.”
“Fine, fine.”
I tamp down on my libido and attempt to settle in for the night. But after another five minutes, sleep continues to evade me. Thomas’s breathing hasn’t evened out either.
“I can’t sleep,” I whisper into the darkness.
“It’s all those bloody espresso martinis,” he grumbles, burying his face in my neck for a moment before dragging us both over onto our backs. “She should have made porn stars.”
“Bet you never thought you’d say that about your own mother.” I roll toward him, pressing my luck and throwing my leg over his, mostly because I don’t want to lose my heat source.
“God, truly.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, thumb sweeping absently back and forth over my skin. “Talk until we get tired? Keep getting to know each other?”
“Oh, I’m feeling very well acquainted with certain parts of you right now.”
He heaves a sigh. “You’re a menace.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He’s quiet for a beat, thinking. “Tell me something no one else knows.”
That’s deeper than anything we’ve touched on so far. We’ve focused on the stuff we might be quizzed on in public but nothing that would help us truly know each other. I think we’ve been avoiding it, lest we like what we find.
I think back to the drive here, about his playlists and the friends who inspired his tastes. But it’s what he asked me to turn off that influences my answer.
“I unironically like Ed Sheeran,” I say. It wouldn’t sound like much of a confession to a lot of people, certainly notsomething to be embarrassed by, but my friends would never let me live it down. And considering Thomas’s disdain for the guy, this might as well be me divulging my deepest, darkest secret. “He’s been my most played artist for seven years running.”
Thomas groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “JesusChrist. Take it back.”
“What’s so wrong with Ed Sheeran?” I accuse, pushing up on my elbow to stare down at him. “He’s a nice redheaded man who makes catchy music!”
Thomas presses his palm to my back, keeping me from pulling too far away. “Look, I’ve got nothing against the man himself. And maybe his music’s not so bad, but I just…can’t listen to it.”
I scoff. “Why? Did something traumatic happen to you while one of his songs was playing?”
