Page 60 of Best Wrong Thing

“Yes.”

I sigh dramatically. “Does that mean you’ve got tired of my arse?”

He threads his fingers through mine across the table. “No. I don’t think I could ever get tired of any part of you.”

My face heats up again. “That’s useful. Because we’re about to spend two weeks in close quarters.”

He rubs his thumb over my hand. “Not close enough.”

“No. Maybe we should practise abstinence tonight. You know, to get ready for the holiday.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Fuck, no. You?”

“No. I want to hold you all night.”

I lean across the table. “Good thing you’re staying over, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He meets me and kisses me soft and slow.

“You’re pretty great yourself,” I whisper against his lips.

He swipes his tongue into my mouth. “You taste of chocolate.”

“So do you.”

We kiss, tickling each other’s tongues until my back aches.

“Let me wash up.” He collects our bowls.

“You don’t have to.”

“You made dessert. It’s only fair I wash up.” He takes the bowls to the sink.

I rest against my chair, stretch my legs, and lay my hands on my belly. “I could get used to this.”

“What?” He fills the bowl with hot water and washing-up liquid.

“Having a man around the house to help with boring chores like washing up.”

“Keep making desserts, and I’ll keep washing up.”

“Deal.”

“Archer.”

“Hmm?” I go over to him and press myself against his back with my arms around his waist.

“After the holiday, would you be open to spending more time together?”

“Do you mean outside the bedroom?”

“Yes. Doing this sort of thing.”

I press my cheek against his shoulders. “Yes. I’d like that a lot.”

He puts a soapy hand over mine. “So would I.”