“Yes,” I admit. “I’m jealous. It kills me that you’ve been with other people. But I don’t care what you say or how many threesomes you’ve had. There’s no way you’ve had hotter sex than the sex we used to have. There’s no way anyone else gave you what you needed. Only I know how to do that.” I’m panting by the time I’m done, my hips rolling up into nothing, my hands fisting the sofa at my sides. “So full of yourself,” he teases. “Tell me I’m wrong.” He doesn’t. I grin. That’s what I fucking thought.
