She sniffled. “I kind of wish you were a jackass right now. Quick, do you think you can go back to being really insulting?”
“I’m still inside you. We just had sex,” I said slowly. Incredible, brain-numbing, heart-stopping, wanna-do-it-again-soon sex. “And you want me to . . . insult you?”
She nodded quickly and then pounded a fist against the mattress. “Damn it, Thorn!” Her eyes widened. “Insult me!”
“You’re, um”—I coughed—“short?”
Avery flicked my nipple.
“Hey!” I swatted her hand away. “What the hell kind of postcoital ritual is this?”
With a grin, she shrugged. “I just needed a reminder.”
“A reminder,” I repeated. “Of how to inflict pain on me?”
“No.” Her expression sobered. “That I’m not different.”
“This is a fun game, Avery Bug, really, talking in circles and then hitting me every time I do exactly as you say . . .”
“Never mind.” She waved me away. “Also, you’re really heavy.”
“It’s called muscle.” I rolled my eyes as I pulled away from her and dropped back against the feather pillows. I thrust my hands behind my head to keep myself from grabbing her again and asking for another round.
Asking.
Since when had I ever asked?
“Thorn?”
“Hmm?”
Avery scooted toward me until her face was in the crook of my arm, her hand pressed against my chest. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Depends. Will you tell me why you cried?”
“I’m a girl.”
“Woman,” I corrected. “And what’s this favor you speak of?”
“Can we have steak in bed?”
“As opposed to the table?” I smiled, unable to help it. “Oh, I see what this is—you like all your meat in bed.”
A pillow pummeled my face, once, twice.
Laughing, I grabbed it and let it fly against her face.
She cursed. “THORN!”
“Ah, there it is. You know how many times you screamed my name during—”
The pillow cut me off, and then I found myself getting strangled by a curvy vixen who, not five minutes ago, had been sobbing in my arms.
I liked her this way better.
“Are you trying to beat me up?” I burst out laughing. “And stop squirming if you don’t want to end up tied to this bed, Avery.”
Her eyes lit up.
I groaned.
“What?” She lifted a shoulder and gave me a coy look. “I bet you tie good knots.”
“Hmm, maybe after we eat the steak?” I was about ready to beg for her body, when she hopped out of bed and grabbed my shirt from the floor.
“I agree to these terms.”
I quickly disposed of the condom and wrapper, then pulled on my briefs, only to see her staring at me, jaw nearly hitting the floor.
“Avery?” I snapped my fingers in front of her. “Steak?”
Her eyes never left my cock. “I could just eat you.” And then slowly, her gaze lifted to my face and she winked. “But steak first.”
“Tease.” My body strained toward her.
She shrugged and skipped out of the room, leaving me too aroused and confused for my own damn good.
Chapter Thirty
AVERY
Be normal. No sweat. I could totally be normal after having the best mind-blowing sex of my life. Admittedly, that wasn’t saying much, given my lone previous disaster in the sack, but that was already ancient history, and my body was still overheating at the memory of his hands, my hips, or his mouth.
That.
Mouth.
I took a deep breath and braced my body against the kitchen sink. All I needed was air, just a bit of air, and I’d be totally fine.
Air and steak.
In that order.
The microwave dinged.
But when I turned around to bolt toward the food, Lucas was already there, pulling out the plate, serving it up for both of us—nearly naked.
His body glistened—seriously, it glowed with a mixture of sweat and awesomeness.
How did I get myself in this situation?
Oh, right, it all started with wine.
Most poor life choices start and end with alcohol.
But tonight?
I was completely sober.
And I had still jumped into bed with the devil. What was worse? I enjoyed it.
“Avery”—Lucas didn’t look up from the steak—“you’ve been staring at me for a good four minutes, and it’s starting to freak me out, even if it is a bit flattering. You keep eying the knife too, so could you move that sweet ass over here and eat before I use the plate as a cock shield?”
Rolling my eyes, I moseyed over to him in what I thought was a sexy, confident stroll.
Fake it ’til you make it.
Don’t cry.
I was torn between wanting more of him and making up some lame excuse about being sick so I could make a run for it.
One session in his arms was incredible.
But two? Two would be like poison.
Suicide.
Another round would kill me.
I was sure of it.
I’d be down for the count.
Lucas patted the barstool next to him. I climbed up onto it and inhaled the aroma of steak, closing my eyes as the scent of pepper and spices filled my nostrils.
A fork was placed in my hand. I opened my eyes. “You’re giving me weapons?”
“Just be careful where you point the sharp points, Avery Bug.” He winked.