Page 50 of Sharing Shane

She drew to a halt with a little squeak, barely stopping herself from crashing into him for the second time that morning. It was tempting to pretend she couldn’t catch her balance, just to see if that broad chest was as hard and warm as she remembered. She’d gotten so little time to savor it when she’d come flying out of the hammock earlier, just a fleeting moment of bliss when his hard muscles had pressed into her aching breasts, and she was sorely tempted to fake a stumble now. But she reminded herself firmly that pretending to fall just to cop a feel was awful no matter who did it, and kept a respectable distance between his chest and her disappointed boobs.

He crossed his arms over his chest, making his muscles bulge and his tattoos ripple so she had to stifle a sigh. “Tell me something.”

She looked up, annoyed to see the familiar stony look on his face. He could at least have some reaction to her declaration of lust, the grumpy bastard. “What?”

His eyes widened at her sharp tone, then narrowed again. “Was that question supposed to help make things more comfortable around here?”

She let out a huff of breath. “That’s why I said never mind.”

“Uh-huh. Why do you want to fuck me?”

She blinked. “I don’t understand the question.”

“I mean, why do you want to fuck me?” He tilted his head, considering her. “Revenge?”

“On who?” she asked, so completely confused she forgot to be embarrassed.

“Your ex.”

“I got my revenge on him by giving away all his clothes,” she said, still baffled. “Besides, he already thinks I’m fucking both you and Wyatt, I don’t have to actually do it.”

“Right. Is it because I’m bisexual?”

“Why would that make me want to fuck you?”

He shrugged. “Some women do.”

Now her eyes bugged out. “Women try to fuck you just because you’re bisexual?”

“It’s a common fantasy,” he pointed out. “A sexual bucket list item, if you will.”

“I don’t have a sexual bucket list, and I wanted to fuck you before I knew you were bi.”

That got her a raised eyebrow. “You did?”

She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment now, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. “Yes. Can I go now?”

He took a step back, giving her room to go around him, but he didn’t take his eyes off her face. “When did you first want to fuck me?”

In for a penny. “When I saw you in the airport.”

Now he frowned. “You thought I was a jerk at the airport.”

She threw up her hands. “You were a jerk. I still wanted to bite your neck. Happy now?”

“Bite my neck?” he echoed.

“Yes.” Exasperated, and resigned to never being able to look at him without blushing again, she pointed. “Right there above your collarbone, where the tattoo ends in that little curlicue.”

Out came the scowl. “My tattoo does not have a curlicue.”

“Well, whatever word dudes use for curlicue, then.” She stepped around him to the closet and dug out her bag.

“Yes.”

Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she spun around to frown at him. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want to fuck you.”

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