“No, you weren’t. You were lying in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, refusing to touch yourself even though you want to—”. Cocky English bastard. The nerve of him. “Oh, and I suppose I was gonna finger myself while thinking about you, was I, Lord Lovett?” His smile fades a fraction, dimming like a light switch being turned, but only for a second. It returns at full force a second later. He props himself against the doorjamb. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. You’re only human.”
