Page 70 of Sin
I slowly close the suitcase. Then stand and turn.
Mason is looking at the ceiling like he is praying for divine intervention.
I cross my arms. “I’m a grown woman.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I own things.”
“I am painfully aware.”
“It’s not weird.”
“No,” he says, voice strained. “Nothing about tonight has been weird.”
I narrow my eyes.
Then, because embarrassment makes me snappy, I say, “I thought men who personally design dildos would be less delicate.”
His gaze jumps to mine.
“There is nothing delicate about me.”
The words hit the room like a match. My pulse slams. His does too, I think, because his throat moves as he swallows.
“Could’ve fooled me. You look scared of a little buzzing.”
His eyes darken.
“Little?”
My mouth opens. Well, I walked directly into that. His gaze drops to the suitcase. Then back to me.
“Why bring both?”
My skin goes hot from head to toe.
“I like options.”
His jaw flexes.
“You should get back in bed,” he says.
The way he says it doesn’t help. At all.
“Are you ordering me?”
“I’m begging you.”
Oh. Begging. From him.
Mason drags a hand down his face, then looks at me with an expression so raw it steals every joke from my mouth.
“Laurel,” he says quietly, “I’m trying to do the right thing.”
The room goes still. For a second, neither of us moves. Then I go back to the bed because he asked me to. I climb under the covers and turn onto my side, facing the window.
Mason moves around the room quietly behind me. The couch creaks when he lies down. Then creaks again. And again.
