“Yeah,” he says, grappling for me as I crawl across the bed. Ignoring my attempt at being sensual, he sits me on his lap, just the sheet between us. “It’s got my last name on it.” My cheeks blaze, satisfaction rolling through me. His hands tighten briefly on my thighs, like he’s worried I might bolt at any moment. But I’ve decided. He’s worth any of it—and if he doesn’t mind how fucked up and messy my life is, how little time I can afford to lose, then I’m not telling him to go.
