My mouth drops. I nearly drool. His chest is all hard lines and carved muscle, abs sculpted like he moonlights as an NBA player with model credentials.
“What-what are you doing?” I stammer, my voice suddenly broken.
“What am I doing?” He points to himself, brow raised. “That’s a strange question. I thought I already answered it the night we met.”
Right. I go beet red.
“Um…” I want to say I don’t do double-nightstands, but considering I’ve been unable to resist his lips from the start, and his presence makes me feel like I need an inhaler, I'd say that ship sailed long ago.
“Are you going to come here?” he asks.
I stand there, frozen. He starts toward me.
My conscience jumps in. What if I turn him down and he tells me I have to pay for everything I’ve eaten, everything I’ve touched i
