If his dick wasn’t so stellar, the sounds would be less of an issue.
I raise my eyebrows, challenging. “Fine. Wanna make it interesting?”
I love a good challenge.
Turner eyes me warily. “Defineinteresting.”
“The Silent Game.” I explain my impromptu, totally made-up game. “No noise. No moaning. No talking. First one to make a sound, loses a point. First one to have Georgia knock on the door loses.”
He stares at me like I just proposed competitive arson. “You want to play a game, while we’re naked in bed,” he deadpans.
I nod, smug. “Yesss.”
“You’re going to lose.” He tosses the shirt to the floor and climbs onto the bed in one fluid, predatory motion. “Ground rules?”
“Rule one: no speaking. Not even whispering dirty shit in my ear, which, I’ll admit, is your superpower.”
He is so good at talking dirty, I’m getting wet just thinking about it…
I sit up straighter, businesslike. “Rule two: no random sounds on purpose. No moaning, no sighing, no gasping, no tiny little breathy‘oh’s’that you do when I—well, you know.”
He blinks. “I’ve never fucking did anything with a breathy little ‘oh’—that’s you.” He laughs.“You sound like a virgin in a romance who’s shocked to see an ankle for the first time.”
My mouth gapes. “Was that an insult?”
Turner laughs. “No, I’m stating facts.”
“What about accidental sounds? Like sneezes? Or, I don’t know, a noise of surprise if someone were to—hypothetically—bite someone’s inner thigh?”
He narrows his eyes. “Suffer in silence like the rest of us. Rule three: if Georgia knocks on the door, the instigator loses. Immediately. No trial, no appeal.”
I gasp. “That’s not fair! What if she knocks just to be annoying?”
Because that’s what little sisters do—even if she’s not mine.
“She won’t,” he says with all the delusion of a man who knows nothing about women. “She’s probably asleep.”
Turner’s shrug says ‘not my problem.’ “We’ve already laid the groundwork. Three rules. Zero mercy. High risk. High reward.”
“And nudity,” I add. “Essential to the integrity of the game.”
“Obviously.”
We shake on it, completely serious despite the fact that we are both 100% naked and not pretending to be professional about it.
He lifts the covers, and we both slide into bed like this is some sort of gentleman’s duel instead of what it actually is: a very sexy mistake wearing the disguise of a competition.
Turner lies flat on his back, arms behind his head, smug as hell as my eyes slide down his torso.
Yum.
“Just so you know,” he brags, “I’ve never lost a game.”
He is so full of shit. Of course he’s lost games.
I roll to my side, facing him. “That’s because you’ve never played against someone with no shame and a very flexible sense of sportsmanship.”
“I don’t trust that sentence at all.”
