“Baby,” I say, and he sucks in a breath. “You’re closed off, can’t speak up for yourself, and you put up this weird perfect image that annoys the hell out of me.” “Please continue,” he says dryly, smiling. “But I like you. A lot. I like how you work hard and you play hard, and how dopey you get when you’re genuinely happy.” I pause. “And I like how you fuck me real nice.”
