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“I want to see this mysterious bedroom of yours. I want to be the first one to christen it.”
Not only did I seduce him, but I tied him up and rode him like he was my own personal amusement park ride.
I told her I wanted her again, and she’d hung up on me. That doesn’t happen to me—ever. I’m Dean Di Laurentis, for fuck’s sake.
hypothesizes that he has a secret office family that’s only allowed to venture out in the wee hours of the night. Logan is an idiot.
“Please, baby, I’ve been such a good boy… I’ve waited a whole week for this. Don’t I deserve a reward for my patience?”
I’m suddenly reminded of Logan’s confession that Grace faked an orgasm the first time they hooked up.
He looks at the towel rack, where his cargo pants are hanging. He looks at the bathtub, where I’m lounging like Cleo-fucking-patra. He looks at the bubbles surrounding my body like a fluffy white cloud. And then he looks at Winston.
My girlfriend. Fuck me. It still boggles my mind. I ain’t complaining, though.
You’re lucky I love you, babe. If any other girl had done this to me—” “You love me?” I blurt out.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to salsa dance. And Dean Di Laurentis only does what he wants, remember?” He shrugs. “I am doing what I want.” My eyebrows knit together as I wait for him to clarify. “I’m making you happy.”
Life hack: if you don’t want someone asking you questions, say the word tampon and the conversation ends.
