Still no framed photos. No plants. No patio furniture. A lamp and a nightstand and his hockey bag from a few days ago, but that’s it.
He has a fireplace across from the bed, which I’m totally going to turn on later, but his place feels so blank. Silent. Empty. Rory Miller is brimming with personality, overflowing with it, and yet his apartment is nothing like him.
Something sparkly on his bedside table catches my eye, and my lips part in surprise.
“What are you—” he starts before he sees what I’m crutching over to, and a guilty expression passes over his features.
I pick up the tiny crystal dragon, almost an identical twin to mine except this one is green, not blue. My heart does a funny flop, and a smile spreads over my face before I lift my eyebrows at him.
“What’s this?”
He shifts, mouth curving into a reluctant, playful grin. “That’s a dragon,” he says simply.
“I can see that it’s a dragon, Rory.” I’m still smiling like a fool, but I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you have a shopping addiction?”
He chuckles, taking a seat on the bed. “No.”
I turn the trinket, watching it scatter light on the wall. “So why do you have it?”
I think I know the answer, but I want to hear it in Rory’s deep voice.
Sitting on the bed, he keeps his eyes steady on me. He lifts one big shoulder, giving me the sweetest, most innocent expression. “I bring it on the road because I miss you.”
My heart sighs and flops over. I can’t. He’s too much, and I don’t know what to do with this fluttery delight in my chest.
I tamp down the smile pulling on my mouth. “So you’re saying that this dragon has seen some horrible, depraved things?”
He chokes out a laugh, light spilling out of his eyes as he shoots me a flirty grin. “Oh, yeah. That dragon knows all my kinks.”
A sizzle of heat sears down my spine. I’d like to know all Rory’s kinks, too. I remember how he licked me between the legs like I was the best thing he ever tasted, and another shiver rolls through me.
I set the dragon back down and dig into my own bag on the floor before I pull out what I carefully tucked into my balled-up socks when Rory wasn’t looking and set it beside his.
His eyebrows go up in delight. “You brought yours?”
I shrug like it’s nothing. The truth is, I love that stupid little overpriced dragon. The red eyes make me laugh, and seeing it before I go to sleep makes me think of Rory.
“Whatever,” I say.
His gaze sharpens, and a predatory smile spreads across his mouth. “Does it know your kinks?”
Even as my face goes warm thinking of all the times I used my toys or touched myself to the thought of Rory, I’m laughing. “Oh, yeah.”
He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, watching me with interest. “Maybe our dragons can talk.”
“Maybe.” I give him a cool smile, and the interest in his eyes intensifies.
Oh. Something thunks hard in my head like a book dropping onto the ground. We’re flirting. When I give him that cool little smile, I’m flirting with him.
I’ve been doing this for years, all the way back to when we were teenagers studying in the library.
“You okay there, Hartley?” His voice is almost a purr as he wears a knowing smile.
God, I want him. My heart beats like a hummingbird.
“You want to take a nap?” I ask softly, running my hands up into his hair. It’s so soft and thick and the strands feel like heaven between my fingers. Under my touch, he shudders, and he can tell from the tone of my voice that if we got into this bed, the last thing we’d be doing would be napping.
His eyelids droop and he leans into my touch, and I think it’s going to happen, but then he groans.
“I want to.” His gaze drops to my ankle and he sighs through his nose, a frustrated noise that makes me want to play with him more. Push him closer to his breaking point. “But you need to—”
“Yes, I know.” I sigh, feeling flushed. “I need to rest.”
Rest is the last thing I want to do. God, it would be so hot, seeing Rory Miller break.
He walks into his closet, and I pick our dragons up, holding one in each hand.
“Please have sex with me,” I make my dragon say to his, using a high, girly voice, before holding his dragon up and affecting a low, masculine voice.
He returns to the bedroom holding a hoodie.
“No,” I continue. “You’re a fragile little lady, and I’m afraid I’ll hurt you with my huge—”