“I have to talk to you about something.” His words vibrate against my center, and I groan in frustration. This is the worst form of torture. I lace my fingers in his hair and pull him back toward where I want his mouth, and he grins. “I rented a cabin for next week. I have a few days off for Allstar week and we're going to Kettle Moraine.. and I want you to come.” “Are we really having this conversation…. right now?” I screech.
