I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up #3)(35)

“Holy crap balls.” I loosen my grip on the back of his neck. My fingers are cramped from holding on so tight, and a line of crescent-shaped marks decorate his skin. “That was—”

“Spectacular?” Pierce rolls the condom off, ties it at the end, and tosses it in the trash in the corner.

So much damn ego. I don what I hope is a bored expression and lift a shoulder. “I was going to say it was okay.”

He grins, tongue caught between his teeth. He runs his palms up the outside of my thighs. “I think you’re my new favorite person.”

I laugh. “So you have a thing for women who minimize your sexual prowess?”

“I have a thing for women with nice boobs.” He cups the right one and slides a hand into my hair. Tilting my head to the side, he kisses me, slow and sweet, discordant to the dirty sex we had.

The dryer buzzes under me, and I jump at the sound. “Wow. That’s some good timing.”

Pierce backs off and helps me down. My tailbone is a little sore from the pounding I took on the top of a metal surface, but I’m more sated than I’ve ever been in my entire life, so I’ll take the bruise. I could sleep for ten hours after that.

I brace myself on his chest, testing out my legs. So far they’re holding my weight, although they’re definitely wobbly.

“You okay there?”

“I’m good, just relearning how to use my legs after being turned into a sex pretzel.” I move to the side while Pierce retrieves our warm, dry clothes.

I stumble a bit as I shove a foot into the leghole of my panties. Pierce’s warm palms settle on my hips. “Need some help getting dressed?”

“I can manage, but thanks.” I lean against the washing machine for stability. Pierce takes it upon himself to fasten the clasp on my bra. I wouldn’t have bothered with it at all, but he seemed intent on being helpful in some way. He drops a kiss at the top of my spine as he adjusts the straps, then hands me my shirt before he puts his own on.

Once we’re both dressed in mostly fresh, but oceany-smelling clothes—ones I’ll be out of as soon as he leaves—we stand facing each other.

He stuffs his phone in his pocket and gives me one of those grins accompanied by a head tilt, as if he’s waiting for me to make the next move. I don’t know what the next move is.

This isn’t something I make a habit of doing. In fact I’ve never done something like this. I don’t pick up random guys and sleep with them in laundry rooms. I go on dates. I suss a guy out and make sure he’s not some crazed psychopath before I sleep with him—and I rarely ever get to that point. Marley is the one who has one-night stands. All of this is on fast-forward for me. And he’s too hot for his own good or mine. This was such a bad idea. Panic over what I’ve done sets in.

“I have to be up early tomorrow,” I blurt.

The smile on Pierce’s face grows wider. “Is that you asking me to leave?”

“Uh…” The answer to that is yes, but now I feel like a jerk. He was very attentive. I came a lot. It still doesn’t make inviting him to spend the night a good idea. “I mean, you don’t have to go. We could have a drink or something?”

It doesn’t come out sounding very confident, or certain.

“But you’d prefer I leave.” He’s not asking.

I blow out a breath. “I, uh, don’t usually do this.” I run a palm down my face, covering my mortified expression. “That sounds so horribly cliché.”

Pierce chuckles, low and deep. I find myself barricaded by his arms, one hand planted on either side of me, body close but not touching as he leans in. The tip of his nose brushes mine. “What part of this don’t you usually do, Rian? The dinner part of the evening? The romantic walk on the beach? The hot sex? The kicking a guy out after you get what you want from him?”

Why does he have to be so intense? And why is he calling me out like this? “Well, the dinner part was kind of accidental, wasn’t it? And the beach part wasn’t really as romantic as it was embarrassing for me. And if you must know, usually I have sex in a bed, not a laundry room, and there are typically several dates before the nudity happens. And I’m not kicking you out, I’m just saying I need to be up early.” I don’t want him to go, which I think could be a problem. I might actually like him. But he’s exactly what I avoid. There is a reason I go out with the Terrys of the world. I need to think, and him being here doesn’t help me do that.

“If you have to be up early, why ask if I want to stay for a drink?”

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“So pushy and confrontational.”

“You think I’m being confrontational?”

“Is it possible for you to answer a question directly?” He’s right up in my space again, his face only inches from mine. His lips are close. I’d like to shut him up by kissing him. But I’m not sure that’s smart. I worry that I’ll end up naked again—definitely by choice and not coercion.

“I like you.”

“That’s not an answer to any of the questions I asked.”

“I’m too busy staring at your mouth to remember what the questions were.” He kisses me again before I can protest. It’s another minute or two of tongues slow dancing before he finally disconnects. Embarrassingly, I follow his lips, trying to keep them glued to mine.