“And what would I lose?” I swallow. “If…we got married?” Christ, even in a hypothetical situation, those words taste weird in my mouth. He slides into me, but halts then holds himself there. Stops teasing my clit. Still and silent, he nods. I breathe out shakily. “You’d lose half your shit when I take it from you in the divorce.” He stares at me for a moment, before grinding out a laugh of disbelief. “I suddenly remembered why I prefer your head buried in a pillow when we fuck,” he growls, “You talk too much.”
