Page 219 of Sweet Temptation

I couldn’t even look at him, just in case.

“You okay?” he asked, as I buried my face in his neck.

Gets all mushy-voiced after he comes.

Loves me?

I cleared my throat and decided to avoid the romantic after-sex talk that might possibly follow that fuck, if he was drunk enough—and make my heart explode as hard as my ovaries just had.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked him.

“Uh…” He seemed lost, or maybe the blood just hadn’t returned to his brain. He pulled out, still panting, and collapsed next to me. There wasn’t enough room for that on the couch, so he was still half on top of me. “D’you want to stay over?”

“If you want me to.” I met his eyes.

He put a hand on the side of my face, stroked his thumb over my lips, and kissed me softly. “I want you to.” His voice was all husky, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

Relax, I tried to tell my ovaries. We already did it.

“Then let’s have morning sex,” I said casually, “and go pick up groceries or something. Like a normal boring couple.”

“Sounds exotic.” He sighed, sounding sated and tired. And still drunk.

“It’s key to our domestic bliss that I learn more about you,” I informed him, playing with his hair. “Like, are you a shopping list guy or an impulse guy?”

“Neither,” he said. “I’ve got the list in my head.”

“Me too! See? We finally found something in common.”

“We already found something in common,” he said, in that unholy sex tone of his that made my toenails swoon. “But I get to push the shopping cart.”

“No, you have to push the cart. Because I’m not pushing it.”

“And I get to drive.”

“Like hell you do.”

He grabbed my hip and held me against him, grinding his hips into me for emphasis. “You let me drive in here…” he murmured against my lips.

“Yes,” I said, a little more breathlessly than I meant to. “Yes, I do.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ronan

Five days later, I was finally over the tequila hangover.

I stood in Summer’s bedroom with a scarf tied over my eyes. It was Wednesday night, it was Halloween, and I was waiting to escort her to the party she was playing at the Ruby.

“Right here,” her friend, Carissa the yoga instructor, directed me, turning me a bit by my shoulders. As far as I could tell, I was facing the bed. I couldn’t see shit through the scarf.

They’d made me put it on outside the room and walk in wearing it.

“Are we ready?” I heard Carissa ask.

“Almost!”

That was Summer. I heard her moving around, and the sound of something spraying. I smelled chemically-flowery smell.

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