“Oh yeah, right. Sure.” She laughed so she wouldn’t cry. “Really easy to spill the details of your sex life to the guy you give extra peanuts to on game nights.”
“Maybe not, but you didn’t seem to have too much trouble inviting said guy to be a part of your sex life, now did you?”
Shame scalded her cheeks, though she wasn’t sure what she was embarrassed about. That she’d just trivialized their relationship, how willingly she’d gone to bed with Justin, or what she’d lived with for years. Years she would never get back. “So does that make me a slut? I just told you I’m game for anything.” She sat up on the opposite side of the bed from Justin. “I bet nothing in that drawer of yours would make me bat an eyelash. I’ve probably tried things you haven’t.”
“Pleasure isn’t wrong, Kylie.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“The problem is when it’s not about pleasure.” He came around the bed and sat down next to her, as comfortably naked with her as she was with him. It was as if they’d been lovers for years, not hours. “Just because you enjoyed some of what you did doesn’t make him any less culpable. Guilting someone into sex is a damn short leap from forcing someone.”
She started to argue, to explain, then fell silent. From his clenched jaw, he wouldn’t hear anything she said right now anyway. And she wasn’t even sure what the truth was anymore. Somewhere along the way, attraction had turned into compliance and eventually indifference. When it had really bothered her, she’d said no. The rest of the time she’d just gone along. Rob had said he loved her, and she’d always wanted someone to pay attention to her the way he had. By the time she’d grown beyond needing his acceptance, giving in had become a habit.
Which made her culpable too.
“Don’t sit there and blame yourself. Just don’t.” Justin gripped her chin and stared hard into her eyes. “It’s different with us. No matter what you saw in that drawer, no matter how many ways I’ve dreamed of taking you, I wouldn’t demand anything you weren’t eager to give.” He allowed her a moment to process that, then rose and took her hand. “Feel like a shower and breakfast? You must be hungry. You barely picked at your dinner last night.”
That was it? His anger had gone as quickly as it had come. All that was left behind was the Justin she knew, the one who cared about people as easily as he breathed.
She stood, smiling faintly as her stomach growled. “Yeah, I could eat.”
“You like sausage?” he asked, grabbing something for her to wear from his dresser before leading the way into the master bath.
“Yours, yes.” She laughed as he turned and pulled her against him for a hard, hot kiss.
“To eat,” he said when they finally broke apart.
“Oh, I definitely intend to sample this, don’t you worry.” Grinning, she wrapped her hand around his cock and gave it a nice long squeeze.
He laughed and set aside the clothes. Then he tugged open the shower door. “Get in there and get nice and clean for me so I can dirty you up again.” With another kiss and a lascivious eyebrow wiggle, he left her alone.
She watched him walk away. God, what an ass. Licking her lips at the familiar pulse between her thighs, she smiled and got into the shower.
For once she wasn’t dreading getting through Thanksgiving Day. If that meant she was in over her head, then she’d just damn well have to learn how to swim.
“You might need this.” He popped his head back in the doorway, holding a plastic grocery bag. As she stared at him blankly, he nodded at her left ankle. Which, of course, started to hurt just enough to be annoying. “I’ll help you tie it around your leg. Unless you’d rather do another sponge bath…” He waggled his brows.
“No, thanks.” At his disappointed expression, she laughed and extended her left leg so he could slip the bag over it. “Maybe later.”
“Uh-huh. Pathetic save.” He managed to tie it off around her calf and closed the shower door. “I’ll go start breakfast. Think you can handle it from here?” he called.
She reached for the soap. If she was careful and quick, she might be able to manage it. “Yep, I got this. Thanks.”
And she did. Sort of. She soaped and lathered and shampooed under the hot water for a few heavenly minutes. Being surrounded by steamy water redolent with Justin’s delicious soap made her feel warm and safe, and she dawdled under the spray despite her worry of a soggy bandage. His shampoo smelled woodsy, so she used it sparingly. Still, she sniffed the wet ropes of her hair more than once, remembering the nights she’d leaned across the bar to adjust his tie—he always loosened it the minute he left work—and smelled that very scent.
“Little crush, huh?” she muttered, finally making herself leave her warm haven. She pulled off the bag and then dried the bandage, pleased to discover it was only slightly damp at the edges.
She found him in the kitchen, wearing nothing but unbuttoned, faded jeans as he manned the sizzling sausage on the stove. Even his feet were bare. “Look at you, Mr. Domestic.”
He grinned. “Sit. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”
Instead of sitting, she examined her surroundings. The room wasn’t big, but it was cozy. A circular table for two stood in one corner, and the butcher-block countertop in the center of the room held a cherry knife block and the ingredients for a king’s feast. Red-and-white gingham curtains framed the storybook windows, revealing the white wonderland beyond.
She rushed to the window to take in his backyard. Or what she assumed was his backyard, because snow obscured everything. “Holy fuck! There must be three feet out there.”
“Only two.”
“Did you get out your ruler?”