Shooter’s thumb traces underneath my bottom lip, his eyes tracking the movement. “Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it.” “Are you that desperate for an ego boost?” I laugh, but it’s dry. He chuckles, leaning closer and tilting my chin so I’m forced to look up at him. “I think you and I both know I’m not.” Then, he leans in, lips so close to my ear, the brush along the lobe, and rasps, “But I want to hear you tell me why. Mostly, I want to hear you explain which part of that night was the most memorable to you. The hottest.” I hiss when he drags nips at my ear, a full-body chill racking through
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