“Quiet,” I said, not ungently, but I seriously needed a few seconds to collect myself. Damn it, my dick was still hard. I hated that I didn’t have a handle on my control, but I guessed that was to be expected after going so long without sex, and fucking her twice wasn’t enough. I suspected it would never be enough with her.

I was this close to taking her to bed, and if I had my way, we wouldn’t leave it for at least three days.

I couldn’t do that. Giving her exactly what she wanted, which ironically was me, wasn’t what I intended to do. Maybe someday, after she came clean with the truth, we could really work past our problems and find a fucked up version of normal.

Our normal.

I didn’t see that happening for a while. Too much of me still hated her…but too much of me still wanted her. How more messed up could I get?

I shut off the water, stepped from the shower, and grabbed two towels before handing her one.

She wrapped her body in soft green terrycloth. “Can I please have my clothes back now?”

“No way.” I ran my gaze up and down her body, taking in her long legs, the gentle swell of cleavage, and the curve of her waist. Even obscured by the towel, she was the definition of fuckable. “I like knowing you’re naked and accessible at all times. If I tell you to bend over so I can fuck you, I don’t want clothing in the way.”

She wouldn’t look at me as she finished drying her skin, then, with her lower lip caught between her teeth, she slowly let the towel drop. “I’m ready.”

Somehow, I guessed there was a double meaning to those words. I’d bet the deed to this island she was still wet and throbbing for me, which was how I wanted her. In fact, I wanted her in a constant state of arousal. My cock twitched at the thought. Playing this game with her could be more fun than I imagined.

I quickly dressed and led her down the ladder and into the kitchen. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I settled at the table and popped the cap. “Start dinner.”

She seemed lost at first, her gaze veering in my direction every so often as she perused the kitchen. I wondered if she even knew how to cook, considering her spoiled upbringing included an on-demand chef and a housekeeper. I didn’t feel obliged to give her any pointers. I rather enjoyed watching her flounder. If she wanted to stay out of trouble, she’d figure out how to make something edible. After five minutes of opening and closing the cupboard doors, followed by the fridge and freezer, she settled on baking chicken.