“If I kiss you, I know I’m kissing Sabrina.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say to me.”
His lips tip up, but the smile doesn’t diminish the smoky desire in his eyes. “You’re a good person.”
“You just don’t want me to play dirty.”
“On the contrary. I’m intrigued at the idea of you playing dirty. I want to know what you define as dirty.”
I want him to do dirty things to me. I want him to pull me into the storage closet at the café and tease my clit with that long thumb. I want him to kiss me until I can’t breathe. I want him to rip my shirt off and shove me against a wall and thrust into me while I ride him. I want to suck his cock and I want to ride his face and I want to have our night in Hawaii again.
“We need to leave here before we both turn into icicles,” I breathe.
“I’m not cold at all right now.”
His lips brush mine. I grip his coat, pull him into me, and I let myself go.
I pretend we’re in Hawaii. That the night never ended. That we’re kissing, our tongues dancing as we claw each other’s clothes off. That he’s pinching my nipples and growling out that uninhibited noise of sheer pleasure while I shove his pants down off his hips and tackle the buttons on his Hawaiian shirt. That I can hear the surf rolling in through the open door of his balcony.
So hot when you do good deeds, he said while he nipped at my earlobe.
I want to do good deeds to you all night long, I’d replied.
I crawl into his lap, straddling him, ignoring Jitter making a disgusted grunt and the sound of my coffee tumbler bouncing on the snowy ground.
He fists my hair and kisses me deeper.
Why can’t this be simple?
Because men aren’t good for the women of your family, I remind myself.
It’s okay, I add. This is just for the sex.
As if I can actually believe that now.
Despite our differences, Grey feels like a friend. And that is something I’ve never felt in the same way for any of my other flings.
“Why—so good?” he says while he pulls me closer and rocks, rubbing my clit against the thick erection hiding in his pants.
“Bad—always—good.”
He growls.
Growls.
And it’s so fucking hot to have a man growling over me that I almost come on the spot.
He growls again, lower and thicker, but at the same time, he freezes. “Jitter?”
“No jitters,” I gasp, rocking against him.
He shifts me to the side and lunges for something. “No, Jitter.”
Jitter.
My dog.
I forgot my dog’s name, but Grey’s scrambling to untangle himself from me while holding my dog’s collar.
And Jitter is growling.
At—oh fuck.
He’s growling at a porcupine.
“Oh no no no,” I whisper.
“Do. Not. Move,” Grey breathes. “Jitter. Down. Now.”
Jitter whine-growls.
“Jitter, get down,” I hiss.
Quietly.
And gently.
So as not to terrify the two-foot-long rodent currently staring at us with dark, scared eyes and its quills on edge sitting on a rocky ledge just beyond the gazebo.
Grey has a grip on Jitter’s collar and is tugging him back closer to us.
The primitive sex beast in my vagina wants to know if his muscles are bulging under his coat.
The rest of me is smart enough to tell her to shut up if we want to survive this without a quill to my dog or to any of our faces.
The porcupine isn’t moving at all.
“Good boy,” Grey says to Jitter. “Good puppers. Back. Back we go.”
Jitter eases back onto Grey’s legs and whines.
Grey gets a grip around his body like he can hold back my hundred-pound dog if Jitter decides to charge.
I’m panting.
Grey grabs one of my hands and squeezes through our gloves, still clutching Jitter. “Gonna be okay.”
“I’m supposed to be the experienced mountain woman telling your beach bum ass that,” I whisper back.
“Quit being funny.”
We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, Grey squeezing my hand and holding my dog until the porcupine eventually decides we’re not a threat and lumbers around the gazebo to climb under it.
“Time to go,” Grey says.
“So time to go,” I agree. “Thank you. For—just thank you.”
He drops my hand and grabs my coffee tumbler, which has leaked all over the ground. I untie Jitter’s leash from the picnic table leg and hold him tight while we scurry back to our cars.