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He gives me a look that sayshell no. “What do you think?”
“Why is that?” I ponder.
“They’re not you,” he says, stealing the breath from my lungs.
“You’re on fire with the compliments,” I muse.
“Harlem told me I can’t drag you around by the hair, so I gotta start tryin’ to be nice.”
I almost sputter my coffee everywhere. “Harlem is quite the ladies’ man. Never once heard him call any of us bitches.”
“You know that’s a term of endearment, right?”
I snort. “Right.”
“You’re my bitch now.”
“That does not sound cool. I’d prefer ol’ lady to that.”
“Know that means I gotta claim you at the table.”
I run a finger down his chest as he watches it, his lips twitching. “Yes, I know how it works. I’m sure nobody else is gonna fight you over claiming me.”
“If they do, they won’t win.”
“Do you ever take a day off from being Mr. Grouch?”
He grunts. “I suppose I could be called worse things.” He gives me a chin lift. “You bring any other clothes?”
I shake my head. “Nope just the trench coat. I didn’t really think it through.”
“Don’t be doin’ that shit again in public.”
“I thought you liked it?” I pout.
“I said in public, woman. In private…that’s a different story.”
“Hey, you stole my skirt, can’t I just wear that?”
“Not in public,” he states again. “And anyway, that’s my trophy. Along with the panties I kept.”
“You really are something.”
He turns and plants a chaste kiss on my lips. “Not the first time you’ve told me that.”
I try to deepen the kiss and a low grumble sounds in his throat. “Can’t…gotta get goin’.”
I nod, still kissing him, my hand wandering down his pecs to the tuft of hair south of the border.
“Are you sure about that?”
He grunts again when I slide my hand over his cock… Yes, the man sleeps naked.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“I can be quick,” I purr.
He pulls me into his lap as I squeal. Slapping my ass, he says, “No wearin’ my shit in public either. Too fuckin’ hot in my stuff.”
