“Fine.” He grins. “Naughty things. Dirty things.” Two fingers trail down my middle, landing at the juncture between my thighs. “Things that are making you blush right now.” My breathing becomes unsteady. “It’s warm in here. It’s August.” “I recognize that color in your cheeks, Junebug,” he rasps near my ear, curling his fingers inside me. “That’s all me.” I arch my spine with a little whimper, grinding against his hand. “We—we should probably talk, don’t you think?” He pumps in and out of me, slow at first. Languidly delicious. “Discuss things?”
