Page 98 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

“They wouldn’t be lying.”

“Your body is cute.”

I raise an eyebrow, but he nods with the eagerness of a geology professor showing a particularly interesting rock on a university field trip. “Soft. Buddha-ish.”

My eyes widen.

“I mean, not as round as the Buddha.”

“I should hope not.” I glance at my stomach. It curves out.

Fuck.

“You look well-nourished.” Then he kneads my stomach, then bends down to kiss it.

Okay. Jason is pretty amazing. It’s possible that amazingness doesn’t extend to fantastic taste, but I won’t argue against myself more. It’s not like I’m actively trying to convince him to see fault in me. I’m not a total idiot. Just a partial one. Which more than suffices. Trust me.

“I have condoms in my bedside drawer,” he says.

“Oh. You want...”

Sex. Jason wants sex. With me.

Full-on sex. The kind that wasn’t possible on the island. The kind not everyone has.

I turn to him. “You don’t need to do it for my sake.”

“I know.” His eyes are too wide, and pink spreads over his chest.

I hesitate.

“Please?” He trembles.

Jason is worried I’ll say no.

“Of course, baby. Whatever you want.” I clamber off him and rush to the drawer. I pull out condoms and lube, then fling them onto the bed.

Jason watches me, his fingers drumming over the expensive sheets in a too-quick rhythm.

“Lie down.”

Relief moves over his face, and he plops his body back onto the bed at once. I crawl toward him, keeping eye contact, and I swear to God I can see his pulse increase.

I unbuckle his belt, then slide it off. I fling it onto the rug.

“You making my room messier, Prescott?”

“Um, maybe?”

His eyes dance, and I brush my fingers over his crotch.

His eyes go funny, and his cock hardens further.

I remove his socks, then slide his trousers off him.

He’s naked. Jason Larvik is naked in front of me, cock hard and leaking. My Jason.

I hurry and take off my pants, take off my socks, take off my boxer briefs. I fling everything onto a chair.