Page 69 of Big Dick Energy

I turned my head to glare at him properly, which was a mistake because damn, he was so freaking hot. His dark hair was still damp from the shower, falling to his shoulders. The line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth.

“I'm not going to bolt,” I said, probably unconvincingly.

“Good.” He reached over to his nightstand, and I tried very hard not to notice how the movement made the muscles in his arm flex. “Because tomorrow we're going to have to sell this whole married thing, and it'll be a lot more believable if you don't look like I'm forcing you into an arranged marriage.”

“I don't look like…”

“You absolutely do.” His hand found the lamp switch. “Relax, Davidson.”

I rolled my eyes, then rolled onto my side, facing away from him.

“Come here, wifey.” The mattress shifted as he moved closer, and his hand settled on my waist. “Let's cuddle.”

My lip curled in a what the actual fuck expression that was wasted in the darkness. “Why would we cuddle?”

“Because that's what husbands and wives do, sweetheart.” His large hand slid around my hip and flattened my stomach. “They cuddle. They spoon. They engage in various forms of horizontal affection.”

“You aren't my real husband, and I'm not your real wife. Why do I have to keep explaining this to you?”

He chuckled. “Trust me, I remember. But this is practice. The more comfortable we are together in private, the more believable we'll be in public.” His fingers spread wider on my waist. “We have to make the world believe we are deliriously in love tomorrow.”

“You're serious right now.”

“Look, we did the kissing thing...” His voice dropped lower. “Which, for the record, was not terrible.”

“Not terrible? You practically…”

“Now we need to do the hand-holding thing.” He cut me off. “The casual touching thing. The looking-at-each-other-like-we're-not-secretly-plotting-murder thing.” He found my hand in the darkness, threading his fingers through mine, and suddenly my entire nervous system was on high alert.

I jerked my hand away like I'd been electrocuted. “No.”

“No?”

“No. Absolutely not. Application denied.”

All of this was confusing my senses. The kiss had been bad enough, or good enough, depending on how you looked at it, and if we continued down this path, I would forget this was all fake. I'd forget that this was temporary. I'd forget that Dallas I'm-Never-Getting-Married Dodger was the absolute last person on earth I should be developing feelings for.

We needed distance. Emotional distance. Physical distance. Possibly restraining-order-level distance.

“Sorry, Davidson.” His hand settled on my hip. “But this is important for both of our reputations. So we're cuddling. Consider it...” His fingertips curled into my skin, and my breath caught audibly in the quiet room. “Homework.”

“Homework,” I repeated flatly.

“Required curriculum for Advanced Fake Marriage 101. Final exam tomorrow at eight PM sharp. Study hard.” His voice was closer now, his breath warm against the back of my neck. “I hear the professor grades on a curve.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I hate you.”

“No, you don't.” He pulled me back against his chest, and my body relaxed into him like it had been designed specifically for this purpose. “You hate that you don't hate me.”

The problem was he was right.

Somewhere between the constant bickering and the forced proximity and the stupid fake marriage, Dallas had somehow become less infuriating and more... everything. More funny. More kind. More attractive.

His body wrapped around mine, solid and warm, one arm draped over my waist like he did this every night. His full lips were mere inches from my neck, and I could feel each exhale against my skin, raising goosebumps.

My thighs pressed together involuntarily, trying to alleviate the ache that was building low in my belly. This was dangerous. This was so far past dangerous it had lapped dangerous twice and was gaining on catastrophic.

His fingers splayed across my stomach, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin cotton. I could feel all of him pressed against my back, every hard plane and angle, every place where our bodies aligned perfectly.