Page 39 of Big D!ck Energy

“You can pass if it's too much for your masculine sensibilities.”

I considered deflecting with a joke, but there was something about her that made me feel comfortable enough to be honest. “Wasted potential. Not living up to what I could be.”

Her eyebrows rose, clearly not expecting that answer.

“What?” I challenged. “Thought I'd say spiders?”

“I figured you'd say commitment.” She offered a small smile.

“Well, look at me now. A married man.” I lifted my hand, wiggling my ring finger. “Your turn. Same question.”

She hesitated. “Failure and disappointing the people who count on me.” She let out a small laugh. “That's probably why I'm such a control freak.”

“At least you admit it.” My voice dropped lower as I took in the sight of her, hair tousled against the pillow, cheeks flushed with amusement. “My turn. Do you ever... let go of that control?”

Her laughter faded. “Sometimes.”

“Like last night?” I asked, unable to help myself.

She bit her lip. “That was different. I was...”

“Blackout drunk, I know.” I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “But even drunk people don't do things they'd never consider sober.”

Silence.

“My turn,” she finally said, her voice quieter. “Why did you really step in with that guy at the casino? You could have just walked away.”

“I already told you why.”

“Tell me again.”

I turned my head to face her again. “Because he was being an ass, and because...” I paused, feeling the same possessive, protective feeling I felt when I heard that asshole disrespecting her. “You are my wife. It is my job to stand up for you. My job is to protect you even when you don’t need it, and I take that job very seriously.”

She swallowed, her throat working. “Your turn.”

“If we weren't in this fake marriage situation...” I locked eyes with her, “Would you have given me your number? If we'd met normally?”

She laughed, the tension breaking. “God, no.”

“Ouch,” I clutched my chest in mock pain. “My ego.”

“You're not my type,” she said, but I suspected that she wasn't being entirely truthful.

“Not into successful, handsome athletes?”

“Not into arrogant men with massive egos,” she countered. “My turn. What's your biggest regret?”

I exhaled slowly. That was a loaded question. “Probably fighting in that match after my knee injury. The doctor said not to, but I was too stubborn. Cost me six months of my career.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Stubborn seems on brand for you. Your turn to ask.”

I shifted onto my side, facing her. “What's something you're secretly good at that would surprise people?”

The sheets rustled as she turned toward me. “I can fix cars. My dad worked on cars to bring in extra money when I was a kid. I spent my weekends helping him. I can rebuild a carburetor blindfolded.”

“No way,” I said, genuinely surprised. “The princess fashion designer can get her hands dirty?”

“Not a princess, but true.” She paused. “My turn. What's something you want that you don't tell people about?”