“Why did you buy it?”

“Buy what?”

“Faye’s croissant. If you knew it was so gross, why did you buy it?”

He smiles into the line of my shoulder. “I’m part of it.”

“Of what?”

“The money laundering scheme.”

I giggle and hug him tighter while it swells inside me, a surge of happiness and adoration and something hazy, something hopeful and young that I cannot quite define yet. His cock twitches against my inner thigh. He shifts me higher to pretend it didn’t happen and pulls me in for another lazy kiss. Hmm.

I try to wiggle and reach between us, but he stops my hand by twining his fingers against mine.

“Do you not—?”

“Ignore it,” he says, nuzzling his face against my throat. He bites me, firm, playful, almost distracting. Almost.

“But you—”

“Shhh. It’s fine, Sadie. We should quit while we’re ahead.”

I frown, propping myself up to look at him. “We’re not ahead. I am ahead. It’s a firm one to nothing.” Probably more like twelve-blending-into-one to nothing. But.

He laughs softly. “Believe me, it did not feel like nothing—”

He closes his mouth so abruptly, I can hear his jaw click. Because I’m sliding back, and his erection is nestled against me. First, the curve of my ass. Then, right under my core.

He inhales, harsh. Fingers dig into my waist. “Sadie—”

“I thought you said I could be in charge,” I tease him, rocking on his cock like I did on his mouth. The lips of my core surround his shaft, plump and puffy. We look down at the scene at the same time. The sound he lets out is feral.

“We need to stop,” he grunts out, but his hand splays on my lower back and he presses down to get better friction.

“Why?”

“Because—” The head of his cock hits my swollen clit, a sharp stab of pleasure up my spine. Erik arches up, hugs me tighter to him, and closes his eyes. “Fuck. Oh, fuck,” he slurs. “I’m going to fuck you, am I not?” His breath catches, and we’re almost aligned. Then we are aligned, him hard against my entrance, and I bear down because I want to, I want to feel this delicious, immense pressure that will split me at the seams, and it feels good, so good, floodingly, druggingly, overwhelmingly good—

“Condom,” he gasps in my mouth. “If we’re—we need a condom.”

I still. Shit. “I—” I try to scramble off him, but Erik holds me right there. He’s still kind of inside me. Just the tip. “Do you . . . Do you have one?”

“I think so. Somewhere.”

Somewhere is right in the drawer of his bedside table, underneath a bottle of allergy pills, a phone charger, and two books in what I presume is Danish. He holds the condom out to me and I accept it without thinking.

The foil is golden. Trojan, it says. And underneath: Magnum. Which maybe explains a lot.

“Should I . . . ?”