Page 57 of Must Have Been Love

I trace her jaw with my thumb. Her skin is so soft it makes my body heat. “Okay,” I agree. “But I thought you hated rules.”

“I do.” She traces her fingers over my shirt. “Other people’s at least. But I think we need them.”

She does, I can tell that much. And if she needs them, she gets them.

“I’m ready. Hit me with them.” I lean down to kiss the soft spot on her throat beneath her ear. Her breath catches.

“We keep this between ourselves. I don’t want people talking about us.”

“We can do that,” I say, kissing the shell of her ear. “Agreed.”

“We use birth control.”

“Goes without saying.” I kiss the underside of her jaw. She curls her fingers into my shirt.

“And we don’t use a bed.”

That one makes me stop for air.

“What?” The corner of my lip quirks. Maybe I misheard her.

“We can have sex anywhere but in bed,” she whispers.

“Why?” I’m genuinely interested. I have a feeling I could know this woman for a hundred years and still never be able to guess what will come out of her mouth next.

“Because we both know this isn’t going to last,” she says. “And I need to protect my heart. No beds, no staying over. Just sex.”

“And friendship,” I add.

“Friendship?” She looks at me, skeptical.

“Yes.” My voice is firm. “I’m not going to walk in here, have sex with you anywhere except a bed, and walk out again. I like this. Talking to you. Holding you. If you want bedless sex, I want friendship.”

“Bedless sex and friendship,” she murmurs.

“Apparently the basis for any relationship.”

“Is that what this is? A relationship?”

“If I’m going to be inside of you, then yes,” I say.

“I thought it was every man’s dream to have no-strings sex. Wham, bam, thank you for not asking for a ring, ma’am.” She lifts a brow at me.

“I was right. You do have a very poor opinion of me.” I tip her head up with my finger beneath her chin. “First of all, there’ll be no wham bam. There’ll be, oh my God, Hudson, don’t stop.” I say the last bit in a falsetto. Her smile widens. “And secondly, if I want meaningless sex, I have a perfectly good hand and shower to provide it for me. So if we’re doing this, that’s my one demand. We have dates. I take you on them. If the mood strikes, we have sex.”

“And if the mood doesn’t?” she says, her eyes dark as she stares at me.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. But then that’s fine too.”

“You’re very unexpected, you know that?” she asks me.

“Pot meet kettle.”

She reaches up to take my tie off, then unfastens my top button. “Sit back down,” she says.

I do what she asks, and for a minute I think that’s it. My one request is a deal breaker.

Which is pretty fucking funny if you think about it. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding intimacy.

---