“Fuck off.” “Nothing to be embarrassed about, babe. Jacked myself off to the thought of you standing in the hall in that fucking nightie, fighting with me with your ass hanging out, holding a plate of cookies and fuckin’ cursing me in your head.” “You jack off to the idea of me being mad at you?” That smile grows. It’s almost boyish when he’s not pissed at me. It’s cute. Endearing, even.
