“I can’t believe you have to ask that. Have you looked in a mirror lately? Have you seen your brothers? That is one hell of a gene pool. Hell, if I was a spinster living in an old Victorian on Golden Hill, I’d buy—”

And I kiss her. Again.

I don’t mean to... actually, that’s a lie. I do. But I don’t mean for it to go on as long as it does. Harlow’s words are lost in my mouth when I slide my lips across hers and her eyes close, the breath leaving her lungs in a soft sigh.

I slide off my stool and lean over her, one hand in her hair and the other on her jaw as I open my mouth, lick her tongue with mine. I hold her close, tight, in just the way I know she wants. My thumb moves down to press against her throat, not with intent, but just enough to let her know I have her.

Harlow’s hands grip my hips and she stands, pressing herself fully along the length of my body. My skin is fiery where her fingertips brush over it, nails scratching and tracing the top of my pants. It’s like the blood leaves my brain and surges downward, every thought suddenly of Harlow: where I can touch, what I can taste, if she’d mind if I laid her out right here on this counter, fucked her until neither of us could think anymore.

But I don’t. And though I’m sure I’ll hate myself later, when I’m alone and jacking off and wondering what the fuck I was thinking to pull away, I do. I take a step back and try to ignore the way she’s invaded every one of my goddamn senses, how I can still feel the press of her body even though there’s a few inches of space between us now.

“You still taste like cinnamon,” she says, dragging in a rough breath.

“You taste perfect.” I know I’m tempting fate, but I lean in the slightest bit, punctuating my words with another small kiss against the corner of her mouth, her jaw.

“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore?” It comes out as a question, and I know it’s because she’s as confused about what the fuck we’re doing as I am.

“We aren’t.” I confirm this with a short nod.

“Then why did you kiss me?”

“Had to,” I say, and follow it up with another kiss to the tip of her nose. “Only way to get you to stop talking about my brothers as objects. It was offensive.” I smile.

She bursts out laughing, closing the distance between us to rest her head on my shoulder. “Okay, no more Finn’s-hot-brothers talk. I promise.”